inference.

When plunged into the dark of not knowing, the mind can rant and cry, or fall asleep with tears still on his cheek. The soul can feel the pain and ache. To love something so strongly and yet know you’re subjective, pushed this way and that by society, conditioned by secondary and artificial feelings. We have something, but what is it? The soul can yearn for the map to be unfolded, for inferences to be verifiable on the path of deepest loyalty and love. She can feel the loss of something feeling like nothing, and fear the emptiness in the path of arrogant indifference.

But she can’t grieve like a widow, or fall like the victim of a landslide. Even when her very skin is void of feeling, she still holds the hand of her beloved. And even in the dark, she clings to the foundation holding her.

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