Not every moment is breathless or silent.
And not everything can be filled with words.
There is no place to search but inside.
Looking into the painting and the smiles,
you are not capable of words.
There is too much pain in expecting.
But such joy in deliverance.
How can you help but wait and want.
Time is impatient when it wants to be.
Things slide by and you try to reach them,
but there is no way to grasp it.
Holding on to seconds,
how does it happen one forgets?
That power is drained from you,
and there is no way to retrieve those things once they are gone.
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