Fate

The day becomes you.

Every day.

The angst-ridden fever of having to live through the inevitable

is washed away in your face.

Wavering into calmness.

It supports me.

I feed off of it.

Haunting me.

A well-known stranger.

I hang on your words, your voice, your eyes.

Yet you have never seen mine.

I do not exist in this time yet I fake it constantly.

I do it so well that people are fooled.

And I am blithe, high on a cloud.

I am happy.

Content with my daily pursuits.

I have a reason to live.