A Perpetual Mystery.

Feeling inspired. Sorry if it's hard to follow.

In this moment I think that

because I am

what I think, 

what I feel,

makes me.

As surely as everything exists besides my existence.

I'm only spectating. 

I'm only here in lieu of anything.

Of course only in this moment can I know I am.

For in the next it would only be a lasting impression of me on me.

A trace of this knowledge.

To be remembered again sometime.

Or to be thought again by another spectator.

We cannot know what knowing is.

Do I know I am?

Are we all so sure we are?

Prove to me that you are.

Show me that I am.

Tell me you and I are here. 

Explain my presence.

We don't know, so we believe, we trust that we all are.

Maybe we cling to that hope. 

What purpose can we feel if everything is nothing, and if nothing is nothing, how is there something?

A perpetual mystery. 

The End

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