Some of us are the lost ones
The thousand yard starers
Grown appreciators of fine patterns
Both planned and accidental
Detectives of moments
Scientists of love and regret
Some of us don't like being the center of attention
The voices wrestling in the air can take you away
And bring the walls rolling in
Some of us are a mystery to ourselves
On an endless nighttime road trip
Of black-ice epiphanies and pothole hindsights
Sometimes we need help
Or a pass for some misdeed
(because we didn't mean it)
We don't agree with half the things we say out loud
We don't like people for something that we also do
And yet we still do it
Something continues to wind us up
Just as it always has
Actions and words that follow some preexisting pencil line
Like termites leaving a chewed trail behind
Leading other mistakes
And following this line that disappears, dipping, in the vast stretch to the horizon
Some of us are lost without a guide
A consoler
An encourager
A beacon
A love
Another one of us
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