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Alone?

Are we ever truly not alone?
If a self is assumed, then how can we ever be as one?
A self is separate from other.

As one?

Are we ever truly not as one?
If a self is not assumed, then who is there to be alone?
But self, by its very nature, is.

Is what?

Ephemeral? A useful fiction?
Perhaps self itself is a sleight of hand too quick to catch.
A phantom bent upon a goal.

Perhaps.

I ask myself, Why am I here?
I answer back, Who is this “I” I am seeking to define?
What is there worth clinging to?

Nothing.

Life is only a series of events.
Happiness and sadness forever arising and passing away.
If “I” and “mine” do not apply:

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