The day becomes you.
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.
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.