"Note #2"

I know three things for certain; 


I will die. 

You will die. 

The day will end. 


And nothing more would matter, 

If it weren't for the fact that 


One, I think I am immortal, 

Two, you seem to think the same, at times, 

And three, that days are so alike they blend. 


I do not know three things for certain; 


I am indecisive, I suppose. 

You are an invention. I don't know you, and must fill the gaps myself. 

Days are defined by nights. 


Tonight, of all nights, is the night I picked up a bottle and a pen in intervals.