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My world is the dot of the i
Perhaps yours is the apostrophe before the m,
Which is also mine
But the body of the I is the collective
And if you capital the collective, half the self is lost

I can’t see the other who laughs as loud as myself
On both ends of the hall of mirrors
The one who leaves was I before
And the one who comes, will never know

But I’m in the middle, I see it, as I look at my reflection
I lack amusement for the moment, the joy fades away
My perception on thriving has been shrunk by the otherness

I see the other’s view from my point of view
Within the collective view

There’s no intersection between the dot of the i and the m
My reflection is split by you, like our minds, and our bodies
When trying to come back into being one
I rummage you

And I touch the glass

Or is it
in reverse?