Justin Boyce

The Page Horizon

I’m looking down at the world from atop the globe and for a very long time, it is quiet. The glass is thick and clear, and small flurries of snow are whirling this way and that, settling down upon mountains and rooftops until ever again, it spins. I am happy here, but I do not know what that means. I do not understand the absence of joy, not yet, and so I cannot know how tightly I should cling to it. I am you, though I do not know what that means. I do not yet understand the absence of everyone else.