something other...

"confusing the self with the other," reads the prompt.

"your five minutes to write begin now." a button is pressed. time ticks.

my pen meets the page, ink spills into the fibers, and a line is formed.

where it begins and where it ends, i cannot pretend to know, i have simply joined it for a moment on its perpetual journey.

this is how i see it... a line that can bleed freely into and out of anything, forming fleeting concepts before swiftly moving along.

even that doesn't feel exactly right.

it's more like

perhaps this just makes me feel better.

perhaps my strong aversion to the tricks of "rugged individualism" bothers me less with this framing.

perhaps it makes zero difference in the grand scheme of things.

nevertheless, it satisfies my current need to be conscious in my efforts to dismantle normative boundaries and intentionally identify my own.

to realize the difference between what makes me feel unsafe and what makes me feel uncomfortable.

to be aware of what time is selfish and what time is necessary.

to ascertain my capacity for service.

to be less separate and more together.

to me, there is no confusion to be had.

i am both one and another.

a collection of all i have known and will ever come to know:

people,

history, and

places.

knowledges i've only thus far seen in my dreams,

truths nascent to me, but as ancient as the universe itself.

i—

time stops. pen stops. ink stops.

but the reflection will never end.