The Constant in Our Heart Properties aren’t fixed. Outcomes aren’t decided. Maxwell built a box and put a demon inside it. A line is a point that went for a walk. A child is a zygote that has learned to talk. If everything put together eventually falls apart, Why is this pain so constant in our heart? The things I thought real since I was small, the things in front of me might not be real at all. A painter tries to hold the light. A poet tries to seize the day. Each in their dying night grieves that they go away. If everything put together eventually falls apart, Why is this pain so constant in our heart.
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