Sheets of white paper, blue ink,
Many the unread pages, long from being seen.
Edges sharp, narrow cuts
Careful approach, nevertheless hurts.
Willing open hands, what makes us human, freely exposed,
Odd chances, destiny, coincidences, who's to know.
Persuit of the one, persuit of none,
Soon before we embrace, what makes us human, gone.
A cycle, a dejavu, familiar images of before,
Outcomes change, one can expect more.
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