If ever I knew its motivation on why its velocities equal that in his single breath, if I could fathom all its singular intent, like attention in an attempt to co-produce and direct, if I could just only read his script and not be in its debt, participate in all his finesse become the magic projected on that screens death, become reincarnated in his lungs excess, turn into vapor as he pushed me out his neck, became just a molecule when he takes back in his chest, flow through his soul just to be it waste again, breathe the same genius it lives and surrounds, this foolish ink I put in his impact with this unworthy pen, just an extra in his great production, plethora of its praises and why he let's me in....I'm not even on the list.