It's an unwritten rule.
Things that are meant to be,
Will encounter one another no matter the forces that come their way.
For if they fight or not, in reality or in thought, be it rain or drought, be they things fresh, or things that rot, part they cannot. And why that happens, I know not. And with that thought, I begin to jot.
Our worlds, the worlds that each one of us have to ourself, happen to be a minuscule part of a bigger whole. Here, in this so called puny world of ours, we are so mangled, tangled and strangled in our own "troubles". What is in plain sight, looks like a puzzle of different complexity to each one of us. To some, what they see is no puzzle, as they can see it for what it is. For another some, what they see is no puzzle because they cannot see anything at all. It is like a game of Sudoku. All the necessary information is RIGHT in front of your eyes, The numbers in the grid are more than adequate to fill th entire grid. Just make sure that a number never repeats itself within any given vertical or horizontal line of the grid.
You see what I see.
I see what you see.
You know what I know. I know what you know.
We both see the same thing on the bottom left corner.
We do what we do for the same reason.
Silence speaks volumes.
And when words come out, they are so few.
At times no blood flows upstairs.
At times, there's a rush of blood to the head.
Either occasion, it's hard to think,
And who cares if either one doesn't blink.
No more ciphers for the day. I bet doing weed feels this way.
For now I keep myself and my thoughts at bay,
It's all but one life. Say what you need to say!
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