Am I “me” inside or just a pile of input-output?
Is my ken a passle of stories writ to make sense?
So say some.
Who then crafts my drafts?
Seeds my creatvity?
What expands during meditation?
Just imagination?
“Me and my shadow” feels less lonely than
nothing and nothing.
Warmth personified
Shooting stars are meteors
I thought this remarkable Nan.
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Thank you, I hope you are well.
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I’m okay Nan. Hope you are too.
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