Letter to self

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Life courses for us all, rather predictably
And yet we believe we’re all different.
How are we so?
How are we different?

You love to travel.
He loves to make money.
She loves to write words.
They love to try new dishes.

And yet these are just flourishes of the same.
In the headlong rush for connections
We forget those who miss theirs
At train stations and life stations.

And so you say ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’
What of it?
So you slept rough one night.
The following evening I saw you at Bodega!

No matter how much we strain
To identify with the Other
It makes no difference to them
If we feel better for having done so.

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