The cold is holding my hand, its fingers breeze through my bloodless skin
I put on the fire, its tongue dancing under the pan, coffee on my cup, waiting to hug the boiling water
I kiss the bittersweet tip and my reflection shines upon its dark puddle
My father used to hate it, for why would anyone sacrifice a good sleep just to ponder about existence?
why waste another second thinking about who you are in the eyes of the universe?
Perhaps he's right, after all, ignorance breed happiness
To understand is to accept life's insanity, that suffering is a necessity, and no good deed goes unpunished
the cold holds me once again, it's time to leave the night
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