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A true sign of age, it is
realizing that nothing
is really innocent,
everything’s been compromised
we’re all vulnerable,
susceptible, corruptible
the awareness that
the good we’ve squandered,
all the times we sold out
may never be recovered,
their consequences
cleaved onto our fates and
chances at redemption,
their reminders
not quite restless
not quite at peace
floating around our deeds
like space debris
drifting between
what never was and
what could have been

Still, I haven’t tired
of looking for a place
I can go where I can be
sure nobody is lying
everybody is sincere
I can trust
everything I hear
replace my skills
at second-guessing
with the depth
at which I listen
and believe

Can that place be
with you

“Manhattan” by photographer Thomas Pyttel