i thought i knew what love was.
we define as past,
we look at,
Well maybe. I could see things differently. Things could all look
a heck of a lot different than they do.
Things don't have to seem this way at all.
Things are this way, well; because the breeze blew them this way,
no other reason.
Or a reason that makes as much sense to me.
I could be this.
I could be that.
I could have this.
I could have that.
Do I need to know the reason?
Does the reason I am in this particular place
I could be here.
I could be somewhere else.
What does it matter?
What is the difference?
Am I not still me, myself;
who I am, the root heart of my existence,
whatever, wherever, however, whenever