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bubbletaetae_
I tried explaining
why I still love you
but nothing
would come out
that was when I realised
I didn't know why
either.
It’s not a question of letting
go but of never having had
hold. It’s not a question.
Our hands are empty often
and at best only transfer,
never own. Possession is
nine tenths of illusion.
Hands operate as points
lines use to reach points-next.
We might say all lives
are way-stations to nowhere: The I
passes through the Me,
connecting points to point
of ceasing-to-be. In a
related story, animals
demonstrate how to live