I have made it for my self, made it through, or if I am mistaken, it is a relative coincidence within the constructs of my personal tenet. Is this air, the symbolism of breath, is this the fire that I happen to touch in your body, is this sorrow that a willow leans on the ground to see her reflection in the river, is this what it means to live, to sink into deep  and shallow waters, to tally its admonitions, or it happens to be there already and I am not understanding the language, the proverbial sum of love and loss, my longings, my mysteries and incisive idealism?

One day it will come at your feet,
like the brush of a wave in the sea,
one day you will realise,
the life you have created,
the air you breathe through your lungs.
You will stumble upon,
a certain voice saying,
this is your life, and now, this is you,
these are the memories you share,
and long for some time.
One day, you will contain all of these,
when you finally see,
you cannot simply replace them,
but taking these recollections,
one by one, through the other,
and somehow, you will be grateful,
that you are here,
and there will be no other person just like you.