What I see before me.
It is twisted and gnarled,
Fractured and split.
But it is far from ugly.
Sometimes it jumps and writhes,
Flashes and swirls,
With flourescant lights,
And blinding whiteness.
But it is in no way superficial brightness.
It is bumpy and blobby,
Oddly shaped and deformed.
Strange depths flicker across its surface,
And whispering voices that fade.
But it is by no means unnatural.
I am not certain how to explain it,
It draws me in and keeps my eyes fixed upon it.
I wish to know more about it.
Inspired, I ask it what it has a right to be,
And it tells me, in those whispers,
"I am you, and you are me."
I marvel at such a revelation,
And the thing that is before me,
Is so unique in its claim,
"I am you, and you are me,
Your future and your past survive in me."
I am breathless and the words come to me,
This strange thing before me,
That could only be,
My Life.
