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We are born into this world without a form except the one random genetic memory gives us
And perhaps the ephemeral spark of something beyond
Consciousness node whose form is unconsciousness until the consciousness is earned in moments of perception
If you could chart the course of a life, how would you see it?
Moments fleeting and gone greater in meaning then those permanent and long
If you could spend an hour or three once in a life on a weary Friday speaking with the only person who
Would ever understand every emanation and concept coming from you and walk away at the end of it to never speak again
Could you ever feel whole again in the knowledge their mind is out there, probably speaking to you
Hearing your voice in dreams and seeing your image in every person reading a Pablo Neruda volume
In some forgotten bookstore where meaning is a smell between bound pages
And knowing you feel the same way because deep inside, you long to feel understood like that forever
It's like a blanket no sunlight can make too warm
Knowing that every concept you could conceive they would perceive without effort
And build upon like a rising symphony driving into doors of perception emerging grand
The string of the soul does resonate with music and few souls tune in too long to listen to songs
Yet knowing the flame exists out there, echoing your laughter and hearing your soul whisper
Down darkened alleys strewn with leaves and dreams unused
Can you live with that flame mirroring you, without it being near you and still be true?

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