My finger tips hover over the keyboard momentarily while my eyes shift focus.

From my hands to hers and back again.

I trace every line, every wrinkle. Her story etched into her skin.


It’s sometimes hard for me to reconcile with the world

And its flagrant disregard for order.

Choosing simply to devolve into a chaotic system.


Where one choice offers an infinite amount of possibilities.

And each person is subject to the choices of others.

Left to fend for themselves in the aftermath.


The only comfort I take out of the chaos,

Is knowing that everybody is most likely confused

About what actually constitutes happiness.

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