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Yes, it is bleak, as the poem says, when we are mourning those we loved and lost. It is bleaker still when those deaths result in part from betrayal.

But to be selfish and not love, like Trump, is to truly inhabit this world alone. All of us know that there is absolutely no one who loves him, or should.

We are not Trump or any of these fucking Nazis. We are the people who love-- whether spouses and our children, or our whole community.

We are the brave ones because we have love.