“…The romantic rebel, in refusing to be what he was, provisionally condemned himself to a make-believe world in the desperate hope of achieving a more profound existence.”
- Albert Camus, The Rebel
Life when I’m hickering is like
scrying over texts,
reverie during routine,
rejoice at the sight of their face.
My days after contact are like
nothingness begging for being,
their speech and their manner
all that is left.
