In my cowardice, I flee.
I fling myself toward the answers hoping to catch up or at least catch on.
The steam rises and the whistle blows, exposing the pot I've been watching boil, but have thus far managed to keep a lid on.
I am impermanent-- a scent that evades your thoughts and sends you back to an unexpected happiness.
Sometimes the ideas are too big for me.
Bubbles of existence on the boiling pot, soon to burst.
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