Monday, October 17, 2011

bus stop

It's like all these people know all these things about me that even I don't know.  Like they've been keeping me secret from myself. And every time I move, think or speak I realise, "yes, I know who that part of me came from." I can't identify any parts of myself that originated in me. Do people even have those parts? Or are we all just untidy, scattered palimpsests of each other?

But still, the first 'thing' had to come from somewhere right. Where did it come from?

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