I am inspired by people I have and will not meet; I have known a few of them. I am inspired by those who reclaim their own defeats; I have had a few, myself. I learn from what I read. I learn to be human from fiction. I write a letter. I sign my name. I influence a tiny sphere.
I am inspired by people who see their story as theirs to tell; I know too few of them. I am inspired by those who laugh at their own tragedies; I laugh and cry at once. I have one point of view. I exist under a dome. I am inspired by divergent interpretations of what it means to exist under that same dome.
You ask what it was like, and I insist it’s all the same; it always goes the same. You ask why it feels different, and I insist it always feels different; it’s a constant state of steady change, but only ever here and now.
This one lifetime. This witnessing of others. This reach without a grasp. This comparing and this yearning, but the only ever witnessing of others. This aversion to staying in place to enjoy just one rotational motion. This life under this one small dome; these influencing tiny spheres.