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I'd like to describe
something
that doesn't exist.
And by describing it
I am not bringing it into existence
These are just words on a paper
that replace
and obscure my thoughts.
It had straight, sharp edges
and the light falls diffusely
on top of it.
Sometimes it picks up
on forgotten hues
of the space it lives in.
It is sitting on a bright corner
of an empty house,
discarded by a family,
or a lonely child.
To the eyes it seems warm,
but it's cold to the touch.
It might resemble an empty box,
but no one has put anything in it.
It just sits there,
like me.
But it waits,
something that doesn't have
the capacity to wait.
I think of it once in a while.
And sometimes it's blue,
But I think
it might be white.
October 2017
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