Quietly Thinking Out Loud

You can't define me because I can't define myself.
Saturday, February 25
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Perception

Where did the spark of originality go? Perhaps it was never really there at all?

Could it have been cupped, like a candle’s flame, suffocated, deprived of oxygen for so long that it simply… ran out of breath?

It’s certainly more pleasant to consider it a timid creature, peeking out on occasion, fleeting moments where you might even meet its eyes. Or better still, an eternal flame, like hope, like the Olympic torch… oh, but wait.


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