schrodinger's cat

i learned a theory once.

i don't remember when,

yet i can recite it verbatim:

if a tree falls in a forest,

but no one is there to witness it,

the tree hasn't actually fallen,

i apply this to me and you,

to make some sense of it all.

nobody was there to see the final hailstorm,

how we toppled without finesse,

how we ingested the damp earth like poison.

our branches of endearment turned forest-floor kindling.

so if nobody saw us fall,

are we still standing?

and then i remember

there are no witnesses to our growth, either:

no one saw the roots of intimacy sprout every time your fingertips traced constellations on my spine.

i wish somebody could've captured how we thrived in the hushed tenderness,

for i'm starting to think we never existed at all.

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