When the ideas we have in our heads about reality don’t align with the actuality of reality, we find ourselves face to face with grief and disappointment. Perhaps we believe our mental formulations are justified, yet we adapt without accounting for the inevitability of change.

Navigating the maze of revisiting the scattered memories from our past is a task I undertake alone, each glimpse offering a solitary echo of what once was.

He sees faces in the paintings that only depict inanimate objects, Finds faces in my immaculate mosquito bites, Argues with faces on the bathroom wall, But will he ever see my face, anywhere at all?

I am not a disposable vape, not meant to be wholly consumed then promptly tossed away. I refuse to be treated as fleeting and replaceable, For I am more than a temporary pleasure to be discarded at will.