My story moves around who’s
doing the telling; who’s listening
also forms the shape of it.
I don’t much care as long as
it’s all about me.
In the dark,
when I cannot see the ceiling,
it’s not all about me.
It’s all about everything.
I grasp the tenuous thread
of my story and imagine
it is all true, even though
I know it’s only in the telling.

(angel: eofdreams.com; mountains: funzug.com)