To be somebody. You have to be somebody else. Not an imitation. Or intimation. You have to be somebody else.
On a hill. Over looking a place. Somewhere nowhere. White. Smoke. Cloud. Candle. Some larger remains. Blown in breeze. The only chance of escape. Souls on a southerly. Inside. Nothing more than a. Pit. At 44 °C. Death will occur. Some have survived up to 46.5 °C.
On a hill. In a house. A woman waits. A large bay window. Nervous boy. Walking. Worrying. Through a gate. Three stone stairs. Entrance within a wall. A door. To knock. The only chance of escape. No need. Open. Inside. An internal wall. Hands. Mouth. Tongue. Female-perpetrated.
On a hill. Parked off road. Small Japanese car. Two seats. One view. Bygones. Cannot always be. Bygones. But two people. One seat. Reunited. The only chance. Escapement. Green lush fields. Headland. Rocks. Wild sea and hair. A tide withdraws. For the last time.
You are so right – to live we have to be someone other than who we are. and when we die it is the other who dies. We live on as some one else.