[Written by Sophia Archontis (she/her)]
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
Exhaling breath-like-smoke leaning against the wall outside your apartment building.
I wonder if people can see me. If people can see me, I wonder if they are looking at me.
I don’t know what I want, but what I want is not this.
I never know what to say.
What does it take for a life to be simple? I look at the way light dances with the colors of autumn, in the park, in the stillness-like-a-photograph.
I look at the people sitting on the grass.
There is simplicity in this moment of semi-permanence: nobody here has existed before this moment. Nobody here will exist for me after.
I feel folded away into their lives, forever balanced in the everything of timelessness.
I don’t know about the state of things, the semi-permeable barrier between knowing and understanding,
between this and that,
between being here and there,
between now and after,
between easy and difficult
I wonder if it’s worth it.
I don’t know how to stop holding things.
I don’t know if I should keep holding on to this (if there is a this) if I’ve held on to it for the sake of holding on to something or if I seek loneliness or things that mean nothing I try to hug my shoulder blades in the bath to stretch out my arms, and think about why nothing in my life makes any sense anymore and wonder if it will ever again, and wonder and wonder and wonder if I will keep writing poems that mean nothing about people that are almost nobody until the end of time.