What if it is true, Marcus, that in a parallel universe, you exist, living an entirely different life, meeting different people, wanting different things… what do you think the other you is doing right now?
Writing the exact same poem.
You think they would be just different routes to the same point, that in the things that matter, we would be just the same.
Whether the sky offers a slice of the moon, whether the stars step out of their wispy gowns of cloud, whether the darkness gathers you into its lap to tell you that old story again, whether you remember the last whispered secret of wakefulness or not… in a few hours the first ray will consume this night. Forever.
Every single time.
the wind slows
and turns around,
feeling a familiar face