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It is as if each lonely breath forced from my lungs is a faint cry and a gentle whisper for someone's company. Slow is a word not recognized by the common person here. Every thing is fast and continues as such as though God is fast-forwarding his own grand creation. Like someone treats a film to get to the interesting parts; the action or drama. Though unlike a movie this is real. Each individual breath taken by each individual himself. Real is the life of these individuals and as such their inevitable death. Real are the thoughts being projected from an individuals mind onto blank paper like a painter his paintings. Blank white canvases made important and filled with thought. All things in thought are real things indeed and no attempt to restrain, forget, or destroy those thoughts can remove the reality from it. If God is your reality then so be it as well as anything seen or heard or believed for the sake of believing. Real are these breaths calling out for another's to accompany it. We are as lonely as we wanted to be. As alive as we believe we are. What's reality? Whatever you want it to be.

 


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