Pixie Dust

I get queasy thinking about blood and bones and all the stuff I’m made of.

All that stuff is illusory anyhow.

All I really am is atoms. A vast vibrating field of them.

Atoms don’t make me queasy. They’re just the pixie dust of life.

I can be atoms. I can be made of magical dust.

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2 thoughts on “Pixie Dust

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