How strange, that a month of
showers and rainclouds should
inspire a third of my thoughts to
clear starlit skies and
water's nemesis, the flame.
A psychologist could explain that.
How strange, that a student with
mountains of exams and
numerous other conflicts should
feel compelled to be writing a
montage of various thoughts.
A poet could explain that.
How strange, that I'm actually going to miss this.
I'm not sure that anyone can explain that.















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