Clouds and dreams and feelings are nothing but ungraspable illusions
Illusions that you create out of thoughts and expectations and hope
Hope that nothing may turn to something and something may come to mean more, at some point, in the future
Future is, alas, as ungraspable as a wisp of cloud in the distant sky
You turn your eyes to the sky and your hopes to the future
Hoping that connections and feelings will become true
You grasp for the intangible
Hoping to reach the impossible
Because therein lies a promise of happiness and companionship
Because perhaps, just maybe, something pure can come out of nothing
Is the impossible possible?
Sometimes it is or you live in hope that one day it will be
Are feelings and thoughts and hopes nothing but constructs of an over eager mind and a lonely soul?
Desperate to beat loneliness and jadedness
Is impatience enemy or instrument of passion?
Are these feelings emergent? Or are thoughts and hopes artificially creating them?
Can they be one and the same?
Do these questions and doubts and anxieties have an answer?
Can their meaning be sought deep inside?
Where no one has touched before and it eagers for a chance to realise its full intensity?
Or is it as pointless and fatidic as trying to reach a wisp of cloud?
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