You’ve heard of Schrödinger’s Cat.
Both dead and alive at the same time.
I believe we’re each like that kitty.
At least, I can see it in my heart.
Every fork in the road leading to
A different life, a different world,
Lifetimes playing out before me
In an instant, whenever I close my eyes.
One, where my mother kept me.
In that, I am small, trapped, destroyed,
While she still ends up dead drunk
On the floor, only I had found her instead.
Another, my youthful innocence
Remains intact, pure, unbridled.
I can’t see that world so clearly.
The lights are too bright, colors too saturated,
Shifting everything a little out of focus.
Over there, I never make it to the stairwell
And things play out with new characters.
But here, I got on the plane, and I see
Laughter, veils, fights, passion, tiny feet,
And improvisation. Apartments, jobs, travel,
Bourbon on the floor, temper tantrums,
And something that looks like love.
Then I open my eyes, as always happens,
And all of the elements remain the same
But our roles are so different and identical.
Eyes open or closed, the cat is dead and alive.
I just wonder if you see it all too.

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