Self letter

What starts with me? What ends?
Making sense.
Absurd laugh.
A shell of being trouncing across a planet.
A hedonist.
Chocolate, wine and a woman on a beach.
A splinter of light in my mind.
The appreciation for the plane.
The curves, the softness, the giggles.
A knowing and a getting to know.
Learning what of me is in the other . . .
and fearing that none of it is.
Fearing oblivion-futility.
But all you are is concentrated in you . . .
and bits of that are scattered among the ones you came across.
And the others, too.