Fucks Throw

It's like I've been avoiding writing about the fact that in every single place, you stay there. This is because what you are there cannot be stripped from it's location. (One in the same, inextricable.) Whatever I am at this geographic point in space and time will start the mutation process as soon as I switch shores. It has less to do with physical being and far more to do with the collective experience. Like what do I look like to you? (What the fuck do I look like to you?) I know you see something different than that little boy in Manhattan, and it's fucks throw away from your head on my stomach listening to my breath, because you love the way I breathe. (Or the fact that I'm breathing.) But that's okay. Because this here and now, is supposed to be a completely different reality that shows me a little more of me through you. (Or just this. whole. thing.)