Glue

I try and do the absolute best that I possibly can. Doesn't this define my identity? I search for some sort of external dimension. I have walked up and down New York City searching for presence. All the while that presence lay within my body. Layered somehow between my flesh and bone. I guess you could call it "glue." Glue for the soul. Glue for the mind, for everything that holds together who I am. Perhaps, I don't distinguish myself at all. Maybe my "glue," only lasts a certain amount of time. It melts away, while I disintegrate from within.