Something we don’t know the cost of until it’s too late
We don’t know the cost until it’s sunk
No primal scream to warn us
We don’t know it’s air until we try to hold it
Cupping it in our hands, begging for someone take it
Frozen like a block of ice
Where the only way to fill the space is to melt
Grounded only in the either/or
Do we answer David’s knock empty-handed?
Or do we just keep hovering his statue?
Embracing the fact that when we finally see, we lose
Duality at its best
The most selfless thing we can do, dressed in the sheepish clothes of self-indulgence
Tell me, what’s that exchange rate?
How do I pay for my fantasy?
Realizing something we didn’t know
Or being smart enough to collect the consolation prize
What does my fantasy look like?
And do I go back for more?