A tip of despair is all you see even thought there are no corners around.
A strand of excitement, even thought the music is screaming and the hormones competing for dominance.
A branch of help is all you get. Always leaning, never caught. Teasingly retracting at the feel of your fingertips. Bits and pieces, parts of wholes. That's what your life is made of. Never matching, never ending.
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