and despite time,
here we are again,
as though all the days had never passed.

a reunion of the souls
(it’s what we’d like to believe).

but who gets to measure the time in between?
the years, the months, the weeks, the days, the hours, the minutes,
the seconds, the seconds, the seconds,
go by.
are they not just a construct used to label all the moments
that lay in between beginning and end?

i start this piece with a conjunction
to connect the two clauses
separated by time—

a reunion! of the souls!
(it’s what i used to believe).

but love, this is not.
you’re reading the old chapters.

a reunion of the souls?
(it’s what i’d like to believe).

“solipsism is reality,” you say.
yet here you are
reading words that i write,
words that i think,
words that i feel,
words that i use as i exist
in front of you

yet here you are
reading words that you know,
placing meaning to
words as you think,
words as you feel,
words as you exist
in front of me

what egos we carry.

you’re reading the old chapters
trying to write over them,
but old chapters can’t be rewritten.

convince me otherwise,
but this is more than metaphysical.

choose to write yourself a new one,
and maybe then i’ll believe
that this is a reunion of the souls,
not led by fate
but by the physiological writing of our own stories
as two separate entities,
connected by conjunction

and…


– k.t.