But what if the truth was that

All the other people in your life 

only existed when you looked at them

That there existence was simply

A creation of your mind,

Products of your imagination.

All the interactions, arguments

Deep conversations, love making

Joint joys, shared sorrows. All of it

Merely mental images and sensations

Every person on a crowded train the progeny

Of not your body but your brain.

That’s why people resemble each other

As your brain runs out of new facial features

And simply repeats a them, slightly varied

Your spouse no more substantial 

Than a stranger passing on a bus

Your children chimeras, winking out

When you turn your back.

Similarly, all of the places on the globe

On maps and in travel guides

Merely products of a fevered mind

To create a world to explore

Even your house, existing where you stand

And can see. Each room created 

As you enter. The one you leave destroyed.

April 12, 2023