It’s all me really (and it’s all you too)… this last glass of surprisingly good white wine, this Gregorian chant, this memory of the citadel in Gozo, this sensation of dust in my shoes, this glowing screen, this feint smell of soap on my fingers, the feel of stubble on my face, this warmth in my belly, that stain on the carpet, those shoes I bought in Marks and Spencer in 2001 (pictured) and somehow are still going, walking, pacing… street by street, year by year…

I do not care to think what they have seen and I have forgotten. There truly is nowhere I am not… not this faculty writing and reflecting, no, no, not that. But this… this word, this space, this sound, this taste… it’s all there ever is, was and shall be.