the whole of it

It’s this thing and I don’t know what it is.  That’s the whole of it.  It’s so big there’s no way I can put a name on it.  It grabbed me when I least expected it, when I was ready for it but had no idea that I was, and it hasn’t let go since.  Sometimes it’s perfect, but mostly it strives to be there, bouncing back between perfect and real.  It smells like warm pavement and reminds me of that one time I went jumping from cloud to cloud.  Sometimes it sits there, waiting to be opened but most times it oozes.  Mostly, there’s no calming it down, no success suppressing it and all it the parts of it that take over.  It’s all I can do to let it stand by itself.

 

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