There was an origin somewhere, out there, but it remained behind
Some sort of foggy mist.
Translucent and opaque, always just out of reach.
Stories were told. Yarns. Fabrication. Nothing meant to harm...
Merely masks upon the truth.
But the concentric circles of life led nowhere.
(But there had to be)
Many questions. A dearth of answers.
Pages of archives were scrutinized... pored over... magnified
Until font lost all shape.
Still no clues... merely blurring of factual lines.
Gatsby-like borne back ceaselessly into the past.
That was the joke.
The future wasn't the goal…a futile quest against one's history.
That would be too normal.
Rather, a quest to turn over that one rock that held the answer...
That watershed moment.
Curiosity gave way to focus... to lucidity.
Which gave way to passion...
Giving way to tenacity... to singular focus... to obsession...
Finally to myopia.
Connection to reality, any reality, was precarious a best.
Difficult to hold onto,
Slippery and fragile...
Closer. Farther. Closer. Farther.
And now that you've found me,
I have no idea what to do.