We float like unanchored stars, a moving sky with no pattern.
Do they dissolve quietly at thirty something or are they caught in a numbers grid, like 9 to 5?
We find the unknown at this juncture. We flirt at the precipice that marks no boundaries.
and then the timings gone.
This part of our lives is like the ocean.
A perfect distance from the surface level to the floor.
This part of our lives is like the sea.
The currents move us along and make us beautiful as we drift.
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