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hope.

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a bubble. a thin, sphere of liquid
enclosing gas.
our lives.

when it will pop?
where we will be tomorrow?
will we make it to tomorrow?

we exhale every trouble and worry that
has ever entered our being,
that has ever slowed us down.
and we watch it
float away.

we just wait to lose sight of the bubble
with only one hope:
to have that array of colors that had once
appeared on that thin, sphere of liquid
to one day

appear over our lives.





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