What am I anyways? A human? A dream? A feather? A wish? I'd like to think I'm nothing. No not air just nothing. Just the idea that I am the nothingness itself makes me happy after all. This is my book of nothingness, or The Book of Impossible Possibility. Rants or just expressing my mind into things called words made up of 26 little things we call letters. Sometime they're not meant to be put together. Little things like that always make it more impossible though, don't they?
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