perhaps this is how i might know a dream from reality – where there is just enough joy, just enough pain, that this could be neither a fairytale nor nightmare. only life in its thought-out precision could be so, average. so normal.

even mundane would not accurately describe it. it is more than repetition or boredom, it is a thorough wandering, a seeking without much effort, a lifting of one hand without the other, a taken step with eyes not-front.

only life could be so average, so un-uneventful.

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