Poem: Birthday

a year passed. another orbit.
a circle around the sun.
hurtling through space and nothingness
exists my everything.

all it means is that i've returned
and for a day, i'm hurtling through the same space
i came into.

before that, i was still here
just split into halves
clinging to the fecund fragments of my parents
before that, in quarters of theirs,
cut smaller and smaller by the past.

if you trace back far enough,
i've always been here.
and when i fall apart into smaller pieces
the pieces will have always existed

we're older than the world itself.