this is a candle i hold in my hand, and this is a dream in the other. this is a fire; this is a word. i am a hunter; i am a process. something is always unfolding; something is always grinning back. i am getting there, but i don’t know where that where is. i am growing here, but I don’t know what to grow into – a caterpillar? a butterfly – they only live for a few weeks, you know. i am a journey, and i am growing into a journey. i need more time.
how will i become that other in the corner?
how will i become the grin on his lips?