Truisms are dubious platitudes.

You are a fountain of uncertainty, a drizzle of random things and of random emotions slacked out by the yearning to perpetuate a hopeless war. With you I do not know what to believe in. With you I choose to stay in muddy waters and sinking becomes redemptive. Maybe there’s more certainty underneath the ripples and the splashes than this enthralling surface.

I’m certain of my affection towards you but why do I care to see the mutuality of this all? 


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