The rift between You and I stretches beyond the horizon.

You, the pronoun describing your self;

I, the pronoun describing my current self.

The horizon: a paper folded through its middle, curling in on itself.

The paper halves rest atop one another.

It's a quiet intimacy We are not privvy to.

We, the pronoun describing our selves.

You're "only a call away," you'd said.

It was true then, and it is...

And when all else fails—

Your words,

Your lungs,

Your bleeding heart—

Remember:

You've forgotten the you of yesterday,

And will be abandoned by the you of tomorrow.

Death is Revolution is Hope....