I experience life vicariously through this body I have.
The Body is a part of me,
The body is not a part of me.
I love it, and I hate it.
Everything I see is viewed through a window,
a cameral lens perhaps;
all things are beautiful and unique.
All things have a romantic story to be written,
tossed on life's dusty floor for someone to come and one day read.
To cry to,
To relate with,
To feel to.
Through the window at which I sit, I see these stories.
I cry with them, I feel them.
And then when I sit with myself on my side, I am lost.
My tears have dried, and my feelings are sore.
And then I am sad. What am I sad for?
