Eun Ji, one day do you suppose
We will stand outside of history?
We felt like outsiders, aliens, imposters
Our dreams were for centuries, not decades
Thousands of years from now
What will attention and consciousness feel like?
Under the remains of what was once
Art, literature, writing, poetry
We made myths in history and found
More meaning in it than in what
The world could offer us, wasn’t that
The ultimate choice, the biggest abandonment
We divorced reality on our own terms
Becoming recluses, we set the world on fire
In our minds, with paper hearts we
Broke our heart on men, on trivial women
On people that didn’t know
The kind of sacrifices it takes to be an artist
They were normal, living landscapes
Of cost and benefit analysis,
Like how to acquire more financial resources
Or which significant other to mate with
For successful children and for some
Mistaken sense of what descendents and legacy mean.