Almost. Almost there, but never quite reaching the destination. Almost alive, but never truly existing. Almost here, but an inch too far.
Too much. Too alive that he missed the part that says- part of living is dying, half of happiness is misery.
There is no such thing as "top" without a dip to dive in somewhere around it.
And searching for that pleasant intersection between "almost" and "too much" is how one clothes the entire sky with missing the point of this life.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
Almost. Almost there, but never quite reaching the destination. Almost alive, but never truly existing. Almost here, but an inch too far.
Too much. Too alive that he missed the part that says- part of living is dying, half of happiness is misery.
There is no such thing as "top" without a dip to dive in somewhere around it.
And searching for that pleasant intersection between "almost" and "too much" is how one clothes the entire sky with missing the point of this life.
Request permission to use this poem