“I am here! I was here!”

The poem that will take all the blame for the idea behind this site.

To be brushed by eternity is to find fragility in everything.
To find one’s self in the world is the highest form of loss.
To no longer be lost in the world is the loss of becoming, 
To accept being sanded down into the place you have to belong.
To live with the muscles of hope paralysed, to lose the ability to dream, 
To become one of those sad adult faces that made you need to dream.  
To search for belonging is to know all too well one’s world,
To see, like a doctor, the signs of certain, slow deaths.    
To be hopeful, to be alive in every moment without cessation, 
To have been a candle having only known life with a flame.
To feel one’s skin slowly erode, hands dipped in moving waters, 
To know all memories we cultivate leave no mark on our bones.
To dissolve like a sugar cube, particles released into unfeeling freedom,
To find we are nothing, passed by as eternities wander.
To realise we don’t hold, but are instead held by the temporary, 
To realise the rain coated train window, the heavy december clouds, 
To realise the many images, sounds, words that we think we cling onto, 
To realise they shelter us, and we hold onto nothing. 
Where is your home? Mine is in those few early evening skies 
Where there’s an excited haste to the determined wind 
Where with the rain, on tarmac and skin, the not yet night writes: 
“I am here! I was here!”

-Amir, 2023