There came a time
I stopped searching
for the perfect thing.
Rather than be trapped
by an idea
in my head,
find an analog in the present.
It might be a thousand years
since I first thought of it,
but here we are,
now,
after all this time
and I’m still
pining away.
When it comes,
it steals upon me quickly.
A rush of wind,
and smelling
like a nosebleed.
Hard rationale
meets soft compromise
and I am laid bare,
suddenly aware
that all of this
is just a surrogate,
of a surrogate,
of a surrogate
for you.
Point of prey,
to be elusive.
Hide in shadows
and believe,
if I am perfectly
still and silent,
I will not be eaten.
So afraid,
and so blind.
Willing to deny the obvious.
I was found
and devoured
long ago,
and now
I’m in the beast.
Turns out
I should have been struggling
this whole time.
Ideas have a way
of winning out.
We succumb
to our bias.
Normalcy and expectation
prevail over our senses.
Then, I look around
and realize
I can smell my own blood again.
I am here,
coveting another
surrogate
of a surrogate,
of a surrogate
for you.
HG – 2021
