I don't know, maybe there is something in the matter itself,
In the particles of the dust we are made of and everything else,
Like the fireflies scattered all over the universe.
Maybe there is something there, as if someone sneezed so hard and the dust flew over even to the distant horizons and galaxies,
Reaching so far where only our eyes can see if we keep them closed,
Because eyes can see best through the squinting heart.
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