in present

waiting
is like a superstition
lived like a superstition
your past experience makes you do it
and you try to validate everything
like a truth
a fact
with the brain
that can
counter all the motions and motives
it’s like a broken glass
which still reflects things
but in pieces
the whole picture
to be assembled with time

until the breathing happens
consciously
you remember you are a part of WHOLE
not the other way around
and life happens
in different way
moments lived will not stay to haunt you
you cherish every second
remember the past
without being stuck with it
like a song played on gramophone
the stylus never touches
the same surface
that has gone
until you play it again

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