Rudimentary tunnel vision
My mind is a fog off in the distance.
Sometime ago I felt lost.
The irony becomes as ripe as the weather changes.
So many different types of weather reduced
to memories.
It is difficult to recall what I took for granted...
all of it.
Even the air I breath.
So maybe oxygen is the greatest of miracles.
And everything in between are just novelties.
Between the knowledge of miracles,
are the phases I've gone through in life.
Waiting for a story to tell.
I wish none of it happened the way it did.
I wish for nothing to happen the way it must.
So I sit in protest of it all.
Just waiting for something magical to happen.
But it never does.
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