Sitting in the midst of tweeting tweets, with eyes closed and heart open. 
As I melt down with feelings, there’s a silent insight of unexplored love for myself. The one who doesn’t want to hurt others so couldn’t hurt by itself. I revolve around my own being, for love, trust, faith, hope and ambition. 

Caring is courageous. I care for myself, and bestow to the caring. Just a touch of care, a sigh of closeness, a warmth of understanding, and the thoughts wandering. A blanket of care under and above. 

My silence is louder than my words. More fluent in silence, holding my hands for the infinite to swallow my being into nothingness. 

I see my shadow disappearing in the darkness of night, and I seek for it, as to feel not alone in this illusory world. As aloneness itself is an illusory. Being in self triggers the unworthiness of thoughts, of projected dreams, of quest of selflessness. 

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