Where You Look

You gave an hour to a stranger's argument,

gave the morning to the noise,

gave the evening to a screenful of weather

happening to someone else.

And none of it will remember you.

Not one minute will write back.

You keep waiting for your life to start —

it's been running the whole time.

Nobody stole it. Be honest —

you handed it over smiling, in small amounts.

Your life is where you look.

That's the whole accounting.

Not what you meant, not what you swore —

where you look.

So look at what you love on purpose,

and look long.

The ones who own the noise know this,

it's the only thing they know:

an eye is worth its weight in years

and most eyes go for cheap.

You can't buy back a Tuesday.

There's no market where they trade.

There's only this: the next hour, whole,

still yours to point somewhere.

Nobody stole it. Be honest —

you handed it over smiling, in small amounts.

Your life is where you look.

That's the whole accounting.

Not the vow, not the excuse —

where you look.

And the proof's already in your days:

add them up. They're a map of your eyes.

Your life is where you look.

That's the whole accounting.

And when they ask you how you spent it,

your eyes will answer honest —

so aim them. Aim them now.

Look at what you love on purpose,

and look long.

Aaah — aaah —