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Nothingness

Sometimes it is nothingness,
sometimes all of it.
Chaos aligning just in time,
rounded stones thrown.
I read the blurry signs
one minute before floating
like rounded bubbles I go up;
yet so afraid of missing this.
I ironically smile,
advising not to be underappreciated
as I let go in complete fear
of exchanging love for red lights.
Which shall it be the result?
At least I can mention
that I am still alive
this moment to witness
among constellations shining.