Although my eyes were open they might just as well have been closed. I miss that stare I used to have as the one who looks at the world as though I’m seeing it for the first time. There’s this thing about me and I know I taste like the real thing. It does not often happen, but it happened to you loving it. How could you know?
I used to feel like seen for the first time when you would look at me. As if somehow whatever I am was crafted in the first night of the creation, in between stars and thunderstorms. In between taste and smells and memory.
And I know, I know there may be nothing above this sky. That all that is, is nothing but a trail of what once was.
/jul 26