Sometimes I think of love as seeing. As seeing the other while being seen that sometimes transforms in a sort of dance.

(And with whom do we dance, not anyone who wants, not certainly that!)

But then if I’m fragmented in millions with how many shall I dance?

(Delusions of grandeur? You call yourself a god?)

No, not a god. Just a person with too many fractures to recall who I am.
***

All this began because I wanted to ask you, to which extent do you think it is important for us to be seen by the other?
But if the other sees us, is the other us?

Beautiful poem, Lynne.
Thank you.
Pablo