What would it be like to fly as humans? But there are laws that must be defied, miracles that need to be conjured. Water on the flower, flower on the water in a crystal glass. I see that observer and the observed soon become indistinguishable. The hours spin like lovely revolving doors, each panel gently placing you in front of the next. The key is to know when to step out of the mess. For it is all about being caught in the cycle of having the exit at your disposal, but not knowing when to take it. Squish your cheeks now, people love to find your face in a dilemma.
Talking about exits leads one to believe there was something that led them to the spot. Did someone put you there? Was it God? What do you know about God, have you seen Him, met Him, touched Him? Him, Her, Them, Their, The Holy Book. I don't want it, I want your answer. There is no specific answer, merely abstraction. An idea that floats like hope between you and your next moment on earth. And then there's the breath that moves inside you with such smoothness, and comes out with exactly the same ease. You hold it in, but no matter how hard you try, it escapes. You strive to explain, but do you really need to?
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