I bought this fancy camera once, only to lose interest in photography.
Some other time, I spent hours rehearsing small talk and still chose solitude
like every other hermit among the city dwellers. And since I’m bookish,
I knew marginalia were my bread and butter, but one way or another
I had to face the question: Do I lose interest in everyday life?
Then again, like a faceless man in a bowler hat, every now and then I think
that I’ve actually caught a glimpse of something—I just don’t know
what exactly it is yet—but it always turns out to be nothing
but my imagination.
hidden pilcrow 