April’s fool: here I am, here you’ve found me,
where I’ve always been, never forgetting,
I don’t know about waiting, or missing,
or about time passing: that’s what time does,
right? But time won’t heal, they just say it will,
and there you go—twenty-five years, you say?
Have I counted the days, the months, the years?
Have you? Haven’t we just let life go on,
welcomed false certainties, buried our heads,
sought surrogates, conformed to others’ views?
Here I am, your April’s fool, forever
swimming in that blue sea not meant for me.