Fighting a sense of loss as yet unfulfilled, I finally read how to be both. Rip a piece of bookmark off and slip it into page 193. “Cause I know this is not hell cause I am intrigued not hopeless and cause I am surely put here for some good use albeit mysterious :” underlined in pencil: “in hell there is no mystery cause in mystery there is always hope” You look for signs where you can’t compel yourself to act. A mad libs of living. There’s the voice that tells you to go inert, to risk nothing. The voice that lets you be prolific, with regrets. I ask what will happen to me, but my friends look to me for answers. At some point, I knew something. I listen to the same two albums back to back, as if in conversation. Years ago, one artist covered the other, singing “Who can be sure of anything through/ the distance that keeps you from knowing the truth?” So you look for signs where you can’t compel yourself to act. As if in conversation. Underlined in pencil, a mad libs for living: Look to me through the distance cause I am surely put here, at some point, for some good mystery.
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