if I sit up for hours at night staring at the whirling stars, I start to become someone else's fever dream. the changing seasons are relentless, this winter seems so much more barren than the last, the scorching hot summer sun melts my plastic skin until I become unrecognizable. where did the time go? etched into my body, of course, have my dark circles always been this prominent on my face? do my eyes tell stories of love or hate? I think and I think about the past lives this soul has witnessed, hoping I don't accidentally wither away before making something of myself. a lifetime is so meaningless compared to the unyielding grip of time.