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One day I stepped into myself and found love.
I knew it was there all along because I could feel it, give it.
But it was all for others.
And I also found greed and jealousy and hate, disrespect.
And I found those hideously powerful.
They belonged to me.
I felt them too.
But mostly I felt disillusionment and loss.
I felt myself missing.
I feel it.
There is no poetry in reality.
In the gaze of the other 
We teem with ‘alsos’. Everyone. Some feelings make us proud and brave while others make us feel shame and cowardice. We take ebullient flights of poetic fancy and we timidly submit to banal routine. We love and we despair. We’re not one minus the other. The other is also us.