not finished

There lies a multi-faceted fascination right above our senses
where we speak in terms of "I", and "I", and "I",
and I often wonder how full of selfs I really am.
We think in patterns, in aspects, in truths and untruths,
but I fall down stairs of astonishment,
and am astounded when confronted 
with miles of (wo)men strewn about 
unladen with such hopes. 
but I watch you from the grass, 
as you sit above on clouds 
and speculate just how long I can take this longing 
to reach you at this rate