Paradox

That space where my spirit meets my bones there’s an undying paradox.
To remain whole or to scatter beyond repair. Where does this space exist; in coming together or falling apart?
What does this space desire for?
Freedom or self destruction?
Or probably, the space itself is vacuum.
A huge hole that gives temporary hopes in the name of love but nothing of its own.
And this foolish I in want of permanence believes in redeemer, the healer feeling the vacuum needs to be cured.
To know nothing at the end apart from vacuum is vacuum. It will forever be so.
~P

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