Draft: Espolianto

I once knocked my neighbor’s door
O I Remember! It was raining; a summer afternoon it was
I wanted to inquire, “Which way was Espolianto?
Up the hill or across the sea somewhere offshore”

“Hot or Cold”, he constructed the catalog of my milk tea
I said, “Espolianto”
My voice echoed – screeched across the hall
“That’s not what you want”, he said, “that’s not where you’re suppose to be.”

I wondered if he already had his share of Espolianto city
and was it an Err or an adventure to see
Hurdled with anxiety; I walked out the door
“Up the hill or deep in the forest; you won’t find the lost or the pity”

“I’m sorry”, I said, “I’m stuck in this clock with no projection
there isn’t a path that I can follow or a direction that  I can see?”
He argued, “You know what you once wrote in your blog I read?
We realize we’re lost only when we opt to follow a direction”


There’s always this pending draft of our own selves in our heads, it’s not describing who we are nor describing who we want to be; it’s just a draft of what we could be but disagree to confide. This little draft of ours values nothing; at least to most of us. We perhaps won’t even toggle it around if it wasn’t for our loneliness.


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