Today began yesterday:
I read far more than I intended, But the texture of having lived The same life under two skins Was not easily set aside. In the dream that remains From 1966, there is a darkhaired girl Reading in a tiny winter bedroom Under a bold blanket checked with Six inch red and black squares. You understand that I am largely no Different now than then, as I understand how much remains of Life lived in you. We cannot cast each other out Into that again, so we will not, Even in the face of sorrow and Imperfections of making do. The dreams of lostness and Danger are the common ground We've walked, paced, trampled, Rolled blindly upon to Put out the flames. They are our heritage and we Now parcel them out between us Like Roman coins, a Caesar for you, A Minerva for me. We will go on together regardless Of what the months or years bring To pass as otherness: That isn't even a promise, Merely a simple fact based In our very existence. There are some loves One cannot leave.
- David Mitchell
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/ to David.
/ to Moongate
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