a piece

love is a war that we wage on our concept of self.
humanity’s creative potential summed up
as
a quest for a comfort we will never find
except in patience

except in –
not only understanding, but
in accepting

that we are conduits
that we are an arrangement of notes
shouted down through history

that regardless,
it means something

that it doesn’t matter what.
some things just
are

and we
we
are

we are
and that means something

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