I was born.
I wept and wailed; I wanted unconsciously for the warmth from which I was deprived.
I smiled and spat, I laughed and learned how to speak.
My body grew and my physical presence took form.
I grew teeth. They fell out. I grew some more; bits of bone breaking through my gums.
I played and made friends. I used my imagination to create my world.
I ate and drank. I grew and began to associate sounds with physical objects.
I learned pain. I learned fear. I learned disappointment, I learned how to hurt.
I went to school and got told how to behave, to interact, how to think. I got bored.
I grew. I made more friends. I began to think for myself. My body changed. I lost control just as soon as I was told what it meant.
I had fun. I got drunk. I got stoned. I got wise.
I grew up. I moved out. I became complex. I had sex. I made love. I fucked. I became undone.
I cried, I wept, I despaired, I railed, I raged. I grew.
I read. I went to the movies and smiled at what I saw. I wondered, and I wandered.
I knew, and then I thought I knew, and then I realised that I knew nothing at all.
I sank. I lost. I won. I became. I grinned.
I lived, and it was all.
I slept and I dreamed, and then I woke up and I couldn’t remember what the difference between them was; two loose things tied together by private and personal connections, seemingly infinite in their variety.
I didn’t. I did. I walked and then I ran. I stumbled and learned the frustration of a stubbed toe.
I broke my heart and glued it back together with bits from someone else’s history. I agonised, and I realised that in the moment, there is nothing But.
I grew old. I worked. I got scared by films and later on, by real life.
I thought. I tried very hard not to.
I breathed. My heart beat. My pulse ran. I became overjoyed.
I sang and found voice. I believed in light and was floored by the Epiphany.
I looked at the stars and felt peace.
I picked up a pen and knew.