absentia

and the city is big and bright and bustling and hungry and dirty and poor. i switch masks every minute. fold small stories into lattes and store morsels of wisdom for quiet moments of reflective retreat.

and the cafes they sparkle and the strangers are captivating and i wonder if i've been absent too long. that dank windy city is on everyones lips like a slut at a key swapping party.

there is something of me in all of these things. i wonder at what i've become. when the penny drops it is neither heads nor tails. i pirouette with it, circling myself until my outline grows blurred and i merge with my past and my future.