Today would have been February 29
every other every other year.
One of us may not exist. You are dead
and you are alive. It is not about dichotomies;
we are all things at once, memories of many nows.
Eternity was never a vast stretch of Time,
which is why no one gets bored in Heaven.
After death, each moment is constant,
a mosaic of actuality, so you never cease
being solid aspects of your self. In life,
it is the same: we are already dead,
only it takes thought and labels to reach each
location in our minds. I don’t believe in Time.
I am in love with everyone I have ever loved;
and I am always alone; and I am always
eating black raspberry ice cream
for the first time;
and I am always spending summers
in an old and crowded beach house;
it is always summer; it is always spring;
it is always everyone’s birthday;
I am in love with an ocean.
Prove to me that there was a moment
that existed before this one, and I will stop
loving you years ago. Prove to me that Time
will saunter on in a straight line after your next
breath, or branch into a million perfect universes,
and I will begin to love you once more.
I do not know who you are,
which must mean I never knew you,
or maybe that we all forget the same.