Let that day, that only has power over my body, end, when it will, my uncertain span of years: yet the best part of me will be borne, immortal, beyond the distant stars. (Ovid’s Metamorphoses)
Condensed into a tiny pinprick, a billion times hotter than the surface of the sun, packed more tightly than the atoms in a diamond, I burst forth as a nova. There was space and then there was time. I took shape some time, I cannot remember when, for my memory is not what it used to be. I took birth as a carbon-based entity, mostly water. Since birth, I put on masks, never quite understanding if it was me that was changing or the world around me.
This metamorphosis happened, and still happens, unconsciously, without thought, without agency. It is an automated mechanism, changing in the presence of other living beings, with space, with the position of the sun and under the blanket of stars.
In the darkest reaches of my cocoon, I fought against the inimitable urge to pass and refused to go. Instead, I burst out, white-hot bright and speckled with the colours of the rainbow.
Raindrops are my billion tentacled extensions, feeling their way blinding through the clouds and crashing into the ground as if yearning for a lover’s embrace.
I am liquor burning fiery red down my esophagus. I am cigarette smoke permeating the alveoli of my lungs.
I die a thousand deaths and each time, I am born anew. I go to sleep and I never wake up the same.
I am seed, I am tree. I am foetus, I am child. I am egg, I am bird. I am memory, I am forgetting.
With each breath in, I am oxygen and without each breath out, I am carbon dioxide.
I am stardust, billions of years old. I am starlight, billions of years away.
I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
Change is certain; nothing else.
I am another.
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