a single strand of light
falls broken.
on my hand, a million pieces.
and yet,
when i walk away,
its whole again.
the warmth i can sense,
it skims
so gently on my skin;
and yet,
when i draw away,
its cold again.
around me,
everything i see,
is real. or is it;
if its the light,
that makes it so?
tell me...
don't you know?
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