i wish repetition was as beautiful as it seems in literature, thoroughly thought and written for epiphanic emphases and not mortifying like the mundane that never dawns a realisation, no matter the number of times the sun rises.
i exchange systematic salutations with the same strangers, yearning the thrill of the unknown; yet hold on to the never changing voices of those around me, fearing leaving the known.
mirrors around me expand into infinity, they reflect a thousand repetitions of me. i have trouble deciphering which me they reflect, all facets of time seem to have no difference
the taste for the uncertainty blinds one, but nothing comes close to being trapped in the certainty of things, in the repetition of the same reality where all days look the same. it blinds me in a maze of all escape routes memorised
i wish repetition was as beautiful as it seems in literature, thoroughly thought and written for epiphanic emphases and not mortifying like the mundane that never dawns a realisation, no matter the number of times the sun rises.














