there is no me from yesterday,
he has become a phantom, a mere apparition of the past
his only purpose has been served, and he has thrust me into tomorrow with momentum to spare
he cannot defeat me, for his inspiration has emerged
and i now bear it with grim determination
i am swift and adapting, fearful of the day that life becomes ‘normal’ again
i yearn for constant change, for seasons of the novel kind
i wallow in quiet treipidation of the me of tomorrow, for how could i ever compare?
