I witness now our reversal of fortunes, our exchange of fates. You sit stagnant; I build momentum in motion. You reside in retreat; I am in the thick of things. You pass the time passing by you; I mark it, move within it. The friction of my transposition rives the fictions I have written into reality. I perceive how peering through the lens of time and space can change a story – the truths of our existence drifting out from the shadows into the bright, naked sunlight. And I begin to see that we were not what I thought we were, that we are not what I imagine us to be, that we may not be what I envision we could be. But we are something. We must be something. We still must have some meaning. Fear that my faith is only an illusion, giving sustenance to my delusion.