"I open the blank book to fight with the future.
Interminable ego, a martyr who loves his wounds.
How does one, when one is more than one, trust the self?
I mistook her hand for mine.
Light inaccurately painting boundaries.
And he took the unwritten missive from my eyes.
There was a bus to carry my image away.
A fable to impress and forget.
But what I wasn't was to remain.
She hid among the teenager's perfect and toothless
certainties.
See me so clearly that I'm not here, I found myself saying,
someone said."