We would meet in an instant,
then slowly depart for a life.
Now that life is in my questions,
for there was no life,
but merely a constantly
bumbled mess of thoughts
that carried me along,
kept changing every minute,
left me confused.

But you, who hid underneath
my supposed life, were
the source of my life all along.
You couldn’t tell me this
way back when? Oh, but there
was no me, now, was there?
Only that confused thinking
that carried on so many years
with all the anger and pride,
hardly able to look up,
or look in,
and listen to the quiet
that always lies there under
the selfish noise.

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