The Other

The remains of the Other lay over there, removed from my immediate perception, absent from the concept of "Self" as isolation. And yet, despite its passing, it regards me still in its state of decay, concealed among the flurry of leaves swaying loosely in the autumn breeze - threatening at any moment to snap its weightless presence from its place of origin. The body of the Other speaks to my greatest and most plain deception that there was ever such a thing as a "world" or an "I" to own.