I'm terrified to fly blind.

Last year I went to my political theory class and found something etched into my desk: "This is everything."

And underneath that, someone else scratched "This is something." And beneath that, someone else wrote "This is one thing."

I don't know why I'm thinking about this now—a year is a long time to be hung up on graffiti. But I am, because it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. And now I'm wondering if it's still there. I'm wondering if anyone else scrawled something new—or completely destroyed it. I'm wondering why I didn't take a picture.

I added to it, and I'm wondering how the poem ends now. I wrote "We are everything."