There is a pattern in everything,

Like the Fibonacci sequence

The distance or closeness

More it grows 

Spiraling inward or outward

It doesn’t matter

For our eyes

The pattern looks the same
The pattern amongst people

We meet every day

Or we are stuck for a long time

By choice or by blood

We always know the answer

Like if you ask me 

How am I doing

I will always say I am fine

It never breaks 

But we still make conversations

Words are mostly meaningless
There is a pattern in silent night

When we sleep

In the traveling light

Of a dead star.

No man ever dared to go there

In the depth of the beautiful darkness

Where all the patterns crumble 

everyday become one single point in time

While the light spirals away

Far from it everyday

For our eyes

All stars look the same

In the pattern.
And then some lights suddenly disappear.

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3 thoughts on “Blackhole of nowhere

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