perchance
Life is a series of moments, each composed of a bunch of particles swirling endlessly in search of meaning…perchance, once in a blue moon, one is its realization, playfully becoming in the surroundings of the moment. … Life writes itself, whether we wish it or not. Sometimes we are allowed to dip our quills in the ink and place our distinctive marks upon the crumpled planes of time: sometimes we are softly consumed by the silent shapes that sensuously surround our play space with the urgency of being. … Lustily, I dip my quill like blistered fingers in the chaos that feeds life, drinking blindly of its essence to discover the true thirst that drowns my voice in the twisted entrails of a forgotten dream.
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