We are not here. This all happened so long ago, and it happened in the sense that we are listening to the story we are telling ourselves, about who we thought we were, and how we hoped it would be. But we are somewhere else, watching, listening to the Deep Past while never really being here in the first place.
How do I get to you.
Beyond the reflections, beyond the mirrors that hold my own face and not the light from the horizon I have lied to tell. The phantasm's witness, apparently alive. How do I find you in the horror of my own
mind, hold those things we were, well or poorly built, but still, effable, and somehow, existing.
The stars are heavy, heavier than all. Would I find you there? At the bottom of everything, if I dig, into
each fiery heart, forget Freedom, let go, fall into where you might be, dive
into suns to find you. I keep the light
so distant, not even a breath on my wrist.
I have climbed so far to get here, to be finally. Alone.
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