Otherness
So much time spent as a me versus everyone else
Believing there's mine and the remainder yours
Inside a mind walled off from all the rest
Me and you
You and me
Us or nothing else
They say there are seven forms of love
But we both know that’s nonsense
There's just the one kind
The only one that matters
The one that bridges the gap
Between an individual and anyone else.
I’m afraid it’s all an illusion though,
This separation between self
And the rest of the world
Which would mean love
Is also an illusion
Or at least an unnecessary link,
That all this time
There was merely no otherness
In which case I think
I’d prefer to remain as me,
Sequestered over here
Waiting for love to reappear
9/7/22
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