répétition

Unwittingly encased in my short story,

I didn't see the point of repeating

because I didn't know better than an old habit of myself,

but when I glanced out a window on a 28th floor,

I remembered to rock myself in the false silence of an island

of 1.6 million individuals packed in ice...

It's my way too.

Listening, feeling, living, loving, repeating,

I cannot fathom "without you," I mean,

asleep, that's sort of what we talked about,

but I find we are wobbling, well, we've fallen

and we are locked 

in separate news...

A life goal accomplished.

I am packing to carry around all the more,

maybe this time I will be intensely amusing,

well, packing all the more reasons

to carry around,

I mean, minus the formal introduction...

And I'm not a strange thing.

Can't I love? 

Are we wobbling?

I mean, I noticed that.

Listening, feeling, living, loving repeating

I didn't see the point of repetition,

until I lived in the nooks and crannies 

and spaces between 

"Hello,"

"I love you,"

"Goodbye"

and remembered that

sometimes you find happiness and peace 

with everyone who wasn't given their lines...

There's nothing quite like the original.

I mean, me, I noticed that.