Pull

Then, sometimes, you only leave the backround in focus. Just to try and concentrate on the things you never really look at.
You tell people you're 21. A complex of unities that are complexes of even smaller unities, and so on. Is that everything you've lived? A list of days and dates, rolled and archived as "1997"? What if your age was built up by the times you've smiled, by the times you've felt your heart cracking and a crackle on somebody's lips? Where's the pulsion-measurer, when you look outside the window and you feel your head filling up with as much snow as the one filling up the valley? When you try to catch Orion on your film? Where are all of your years, then?