or maybe we just see things like we’re told to see them,
like a flower in the grass or a light in the dark.
perhaps we see things the same, but they can’t be since our eyes see colours differently.
possibly i see what i want to see
like i hear what i want to hear.
or maybe it’s because i cannot see. obviously i cannot hear,
because i have an aid like a tiny microphone in a large field of people
and only those beside me can see it and only i feel it.
perhaps the vibrations i feel
when i cannot hear are like mini earthquakes on the earth.
or as tiny humans in a big universe we are like the birds in the sky
it is huge and we are small but we are one and together.
or maybe we are born from the will of our mothers.
or from the stars. perhaps both, to satisfy the public system.
our birth is symbolic because it is the start of an us,
but also of a me that will be an us.
or maybe it’s all a ruse and we’re just us without a meaning.
people give significance because they crave it, maybe.