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Saturday, 24 May 2014

We are ...

We are not made up of clichéd words that drip so smoothly every time we part our lips, nor are we quotes that have rugged from repetition. We cannot be compared to the commons of the world and its way of rejuvenating in the same way time after time. We cannot be written on papers flicked over with licks of everything that has forever existed and neither can we be found lingering where others already exist.
Sometimes it is like we don't even belong here and we keep on wandering about without a map to reach a destination we have not even a picture of. And yet, sometimes, it is as if this world mirrors us with all of its fire.
We are constructed not of screams and thunders but rather of silence and shh. Of all wordless emotions and all that is not found among crowds. We are born of stillness that has silently snaked its way through our bodies and filled the gaps in us that were ever vacant. We are made of mid oceanic storms that the common eyes have yet to see. We are made of empty pages that letters don't belong with and empty quills that have long finished its share of euphoria. 
We are made up flesh and blood and breaths that can blend only into each other and stay still, indiscriminate and of halved lives that if taken from one will burn out from the other.

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