What am I to you?
Who are you to me?
These are the questions.
Questions without ends.
Beginnings, or otherwise.
Infinite. Parallel. Never-ending.
The who, the what of us.

Who am I? What am I?
What is the basis of us?
It’s not that. Not the who.
Or the what. No.
It’s something else.
Something intangible.

We happened. You and I.
As stars did. As skies do.
As does the rain,
The sun, the moon.
We simply happened.
You and I. We happened.

It was nothing gradual. No.
It was an explosion.
Nothing short of a volcano.
There was fire, and tornado in us.
Between us. Time stood still.
Or at least slowed to the snails pace.
And then we happened.
Just like that, in an instant.

So, you see, the who, the what,
That does not really matter.
For you and I, are stuff of legend.
Are stardust. And ether.
There’s no scope for definitions,
Or boundaries.
We had no choice, in being.
We don’t have any choice,
In the answers either.
The questions may exist.
They most probably will.
But I have only this to say to you.
Fuck them.