I mourn the fact
My heart doesn't ache
With inner angst
There is no extreme pain
To complain about
In this moment
Where does that leave me?
Such complacency isn't so becoming
So what will I create
To ensure that things
Are kept interesting?
I ponder about
Giving things a rest
What would it look like
If I gently tucked myself into the comfortable fold that has been offered to me so graciously
If I let things lie
Would that be something different
Is that the new real
Or same thing all over again?
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