Maybe you’ll confirm that I’m just man and not really super.
Maybe you’ll see all those things and the wrinkles and pores in my still young face and you’ll get in touch with life again.
Maybe you’re afraid of gaining a new fear; that same old fear but only renewed specially for this yet-to-be reality of ours.
Maybe I’ll feel scared when you change or if you don’t, though I’m not even expecting you to.
Maybe I’m counting on lukewarm gloom all through it till our most lovely end and you may find the heart to surprise me.
Maybe I’m scared of us dying and being born to a different separate life; you always tell me we were born to die, and I do know that too.
Maybe I’m sure of this, or maybe it’s just how sure I have to make myself be, for you and for me.