No. 19

And in the end . . .

She’s just something that happened,
an event like any other,
ephemeral like that sun on the skin
or a sudden startling sound across the quiet room.

But even I am not me anymore,
not standing still
and when you look behind you
you don’t see yourself there, where you were.
You are here. But not anymore.
All there is
is what there was
and it isn’t anymore.
And all these things happen as if to nobody.
And all these acts occur as if they act on nothing.

What can you hold onto,
this breath or the wind?
And in the end . . .

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