Sitting in Dublin Airport.
Very crowded—every sort of human:
Some that look like this,
Some that look like that,
Large,
Small,
Laughing,
Crying,
Burdened with woes,
Filled with excitement.
Which am I?
I wonder?
Am I even part of it?
Or am I separate?
I wonder?
Are we immortal?
Do we arrive again to take over another life?
Am I destined to be the child of one of these children that drag themselves past me, already heavy with the tiredness of life?
Should I say to one of them, ‘I might be your child in the future. I might select you from all the others because I love you. And I thought I’d warn you now.’
Or are we just mixed together—bits of perceptions rubbing against each other in this eternal soup?
Oh, that it will be eternal!
To know that—even fleetingly.
To be that—sub specie aeternitas—to be under the appearance of eternity.
For just one moment—one forever treasured moment of eternal love.
