nothing consumes me whole. maybe that is the issue. i fall in love with little somethings all the time. my heart is in thousands of pieces and each piece craves another hundred things. but what is my heart with all the pieces together, what does my heart love as a whole? my whole heart does not beat. it does not know what to beat for.
it’s obvious in the constant mayhem of the mind and silence of the heart. my heart is whole now and it does not know what to love. the lack of purpose apparent in every way, wild oscillation of every atom in my body and yet, i’m still.
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