Weird.

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I think a part of me doesn't want it to make sense

A part of me loves the mystery

The illogicality.

Maybe the unknown is a good thing, in a world full of the known

In a world full of facts

The impossible should live.

Amongst the certainties, the buildings made of stone, the things made of matter

Something should be just a little bit wrong

A little bit strange.

Just a little bit...

Weird.

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