It's that unlocked door,
For which key are searching.
That open book,
For whose writing we long to read!
It's that sun streaking through the window,
That obvious pimple,
Below your dimple.
That undone piece of cloth,
That peace of mind...
Of serenity...
That we have
But some how forgot we did.
It's that unmistakable silence,
When a lady of grandeur walks into the room,
That feeling of doom,
When we feel pending gloom.
It's that being here,
And there
And everywhere...
At the same time.
That... "I can't understand why
I am doing this,
but I just keep doing it anyway" feeling
Of being out of control.
It's nothing
And everything,
The beginning
And the ending.
What is it?
That's something
You will have to let your mind
Wiggle around in.
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