but I have always run away
run like hell.
and how is it that you
have got me to sit still?
and I have always chosen waking dreams,
colorful paper dreams with delicate edges
over the rough-edged half-meltedness of reality
though paper worlds are flat, without
sound, without
scent, without
heat.
until they burn up and are gone.
but it is so strange now
to see this
to not attempt to create or control it
and still to see
it is.
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