Here I am, writing.
What's the point of this?
Here I am, breathing.
What good is that?
There's no one in the whole world
who'd be glad to read it,
who'd be able to feel it.
See the stars.
Up there in the sky.
I suppose I love them,
though I doubt they love me back.
Nicotine smoke gets in my eyes
without a fire.
There you are.
So what?
Is that, by itself, really inspiring?
And yet, out of everyone I've ever known,
you're the only one
who, even by accident,
has lit me up.
I'm here.
But let's not talk about that
as the saddest question of all.
I'm writing
so it feels like someone loves me.
I'm breathing,
and for now,
that's enough.
Here I Am
© Copyright: Анатолий Ник Галич, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126111208367
Свидетельство о публикации №126111208367
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