What I was, what I wasn't - that's all me. What I wanted, what I didn't, all of that gets to be me, what I loved, what I stopped loving-it's all become the same sad yearning in me...

And at the same time,
the impression,
a bit inconsequential,
Like a dream made of mixed 
realities,
Of facing myself left behind 
on a seat in a trolley,
To be accidentally met by someone 
who'd sit down on top of me.

I'm me,
and what the hell can I do about it !...