blackbirds & vagabonds

the world is speaking to me.
yes.
it always does.
yes.
have you ever heard true silence?
no. no one has. the world is constantly tearing itself apart and sewing itself back together, ceasing and becoming, shouting, crying. in the eyes of strangers, i can see the mark of someone lost. nobody is ever in a state of perpetual foundness. they cry out, perpetually, microcosms of the world, ripped and mended, broken and fixed. lost and found.

p.s. i fancy myself a dreamer. i fancy myself a star among others, suspended necessarily as a part of the infinite everything. i've never had to wonder what it's like to be someone else. i fall into them and become them and feel them. nobody is ever alone. perpetually, i am there, oh, perpetually there.
no. you are never alone. i am always falling through you. i am there. and so i can never hate you. mes petits feux sont toujours là. i can cradle your soul in my arms, can see your starry universe stretched across forever, compressed into your existence. all your thoughts are mine as well. perpetually, irrevocably, i am you. we are everyone.