Reaching thirty one morning startled to find I am not this person nor am I any of the persons who woke in shock each day before to find they were not this person either I suspect I am not the person I am now either when the sun comes up I will be thirty and upon me so many days have passed in each of these forever unreachable days the I who is not I was always someone else among all these people I have never truly met a single one sometimes in another's eyes I catch a glimpse of one of them and in that moment they assume with doubt yet stubbornly the guise of the person about to be understood