just to know that I’m alive

sometimes I struggle to remember how I’ve gotten to what I’ve become,

and others I don’t even ask to remember before it all comes crashing in. 

I do nothing but question-

how many people must see something for it to exist?

who determines was makes wasted time waste?

if I could go backwards, would I?

how do things always fall in a way that feels like this was the only way they could’ve when I never even know the sticks of fate have left my hand?

if I let go, would I fly or would I fall?

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