by now how your
most fervent wish
has always been
to ditch this existence,
to become somehow
different, to turn
into someone else?
Thousands upon thousands
of spins around this Earth—
a conduit of translation,
a passionate observer
of births and
of deaths—and yet,
oblivious to these motions,
your sights have been set
not on the longing
for contentment,
or for happiness, but
instead, on the hunger
to be other than you are—as if
the one with whom
you've sat and borne
witness to these moments
was not but an awkward
and a sheer and total stranger,
with whom you still find
yourself thrilled
(as well as frightened)
to sit and share the dark.
