"but all our lives, we’ve been treading paper in the space between the words.
and there implied’s the thought that we are barely more than bodies for the birds, carrion.
they say that we’re just accidental atoms beating air, carrying on and on,
unwitting orphans of an unyielding despair. but our hearts tell a different story; our hands feel a different pulse.
if anything means anything,
there must be something meant for us to be, a song that we were made to sing.
there must be so much more than we can see.
something fathomless, deeper than our pride can dive; numinous, higher than –
our hearts can rise; transcendent, further than our thoughts can reach; immanent, closer than the air we breathe." -dustin kensrue, treading paper
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