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It’s dark outside
and still,
and the truths are just
waking up to the morning.
Self-awareness sleeps
in peace, limbs inert
and breathing languid.

I am all that I have written,
I am broken and singing
I am falling apart and
I am rising from the flames,
dancing in the dying night
asking the sun
to take its time.
I am frail, betrayed by
my body a thousand times,
but I am indomitable
in will and in spirit.
In the paws of midnight
and the unknown,
I struggle
against delirium and
my fever finally broke
the same moment as the dawn,
and if I get too numb
to feel,
to taste,
to see,
my attachment
to the vivid memories
of joy,
of sweetness,
of beauty,
pulls me back to the
world of the living
Do not worry about me.

Reality gets
pieced back together
by sunrise.
So do the uncertainties
that bind the parts like glue.
The echoes of the questions
hint at the answers.
But we see them now,
in the faintest light,
as mere colors
instead of eloquence.
A little time is all they need.

“It’s my World” by photographer Goff Kitsawad