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I stand amongst a convocation of minuscule water molecules shrouding my visibility. In every direction a blind vastness invites me in and sounds become equivocal. On the blank page I see possibilities, I see lives that could have been mine. My hair is weighed down by dampness in the air as I pass through unfiltered thoughts like pieces in a museum. I follow the only path I can see and find myself dragging my feet. More than my head, my whole being is stuck in this cloud. I search for an end to this hunt of satisfaction in my life but the colors get more vibrant in each portrait I pass. My imagination ceases to rest and the museum of my mind is unremitting in its creations. I’m beginning to accept there is no end-that some people must force themselves to be content.
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Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 1:16 PM UTC
Museum in the Fog
I stand amongst a convocation of minuscule water molecules shrouding my visibility. In every direction a blind vastness invites me in and sounds become equivocal. On the blank page I see possibilities, I see lives that could have been mine. My hair is weighed down by dampness in the air as I pass through unfiltered thoughts like pieces in a museum. I follow the only path I can see and find myself dragging my feet. More than my head, my whole being is stuck in this cloud. I search for an end to this hunt of satisfaction in my life but the colors get more vibrant in each portrait I pass. My imagination ceases to rest and the museum of my mind is unremitting in its creations. I’m beginning to accept there is no end-that some people must force themselves to be content.
Halfwitpoet
Written by
28/F/Germany
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 1:16 PM UTC
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