Remembering when our habit was that marshy lake outside the Auroville sunsets
Lighters passed around and jokes thrown in the air
Now we -and I'm the only one who's the same- are gliding over swamps lined by cliffs, the Commute-playlist rolling on our car stereo
The mundane we create, start to love and end to hate
As landscapes change from being picturesque to being home and as people pass through, time passes over to the other side.
One day our habits become memories and become the stories we tell over community diners where the "we" I talk about is a bunch of strangers to everyone else but me.
We will never be reunited because we is a changing and bordeless group defined by who I'm focused on at that point, formed by the negative space of those my radar doesn't pick up.
We is an entity absolutely implaceable, because even I don't exist anymore.
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