I realized life is just one long moment.
A long, run on sentence that only has punctuation at the end, yet makes perfect grammatical sense.
I realized that in whatever the algebraic formula would be, we are x, always the same. Always us. Sitting on a tangent of y. Which somehow always looks like it is a path, but is really just one point. Like that vanishing point in a photograph or drawing.
That is ridiculous obvious bull shit, except that it is everything.
I am the same me who sat just as I sit in my bedroom, staring blankly at the calendar still set to Enero when we are now in Martes. At 5 I stared at something else. Maybe it was a teddy bear who had a bit of fur stuck together or missing. Maybe it was a space in the grout on the bathtub where mold was just starting to step in. Whatever it was, then, just like now. Caught in a moment. Caught in my thoughts which for that brief instant are actually no thoughts. Except for that awareness in that instant of the fact that I was caught, staring at the tiniest of details with me.
In that moment.
I’m always alone. My perpetual state. In my head. In my skin.
If it is true that we are each a bag of molecules without the bag.
When you and I rub ourselves together chasing those good feelings. Chasing that cum.
Perhaps a molecule of you could get mixed in with a bunch of me.
In that way, I could keep you. Take you inside.
Integrate you
so that part of what I really love about you
could be part of what I love
About me.
About me.
