Anticipation.

And I sit here,

Amazed by the beauty of your words –

Sweet and fresh,

Like fruits of the garden of Eden.

And the future,

We won’t know if it’s forbidden or poison.

Perhaps when we get there,

It’ll be nothing short of our imagined heaven.

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Something.

Why do we feel everything,

Even though we’re not a certain something?

Will we be anything,

Or will we be nothing?

Will we one day become a certain something,

Or will we end up feeling nothing?

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