There is no way to differentiate between our lives and our history

And I am no one but my history of these moments

The place I can smell and hear and taste

The cool feeling of sweat on one's neck

Thrumming in each foot against pavement

Hearts wishing they could be more than in our chest

And living ultimately becoming unsatisfactory

Our creation is our units of cigarette butts and half drank tea

Of streetlights blinking in and out against cold railroad tracks

We are the moments that say amen and curse at unspoken rules

and one day, despite these errors our live will add up

in cigarette butts and half drank tea

and never ending houses if lights on too long