my mother once said,
"brown eyes are so beautiful,
but they're so sad, too."

I look into a mirror
And though i don’t always like what i see,
There’s still a flicker in my eyes
And i’m glad that i am me.

I can't escape my fantasies
Not sure I want to
I exist in many places
I exist all over

What is reality
In a world that functions off the arbitrary?
Am I my day job?
Am I pumping gas at the same station
on the corner near my house
twice a week?
Is my life one extended motion
of muscle memory?
Or am I purely spirit
Soaking up the sun on Mykonos
Kicking up dust in the Paris catacombs
Staring up at the basilica
of the Hagia Sophia?

Maybe I can't escape my fantasies
Because they are real