Everything is fabricated.
Know well, even your heart. When the beating of your heart is only an inch when you gently place your palm upon your chest, the feeling is superficial, yet seemingly fake and full of lies.
At times, we do sense the ambience of that tactility,
We shall soon come to know, and we shall savour,
The confusion that hits us, has its own significance,
Embracing meaning we know not of,
Before.
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