Imagine a life, still and inert.
Does it exist?
Her mind is turbulent. Her body mechanical.
Her ache deep.
Peace feels like a mirage, just out of reach.
A persistent illusion.
She yearns to nourish her mind and soul. Resumes her hunt.
Soon, she discerns her plight:
This is not a solitary journey.
She summons help from near and far.
Some come, some don’t.
Some help, some judge.
Some lead her to nature.
Others, to literature.
A few guide her toward celestial powers.
But insomnia prevails.
There is no tranquility.
Serenity remains elusive.
Then, she sees it. Clear as a crystal.
The solution is simple: she covets a paradox.
Could it be done?
She pursues and learns. Seeks, and finds wisdom in the lascivious arts.
Bound by mutual consent.
Swaddled in resignation.
Powerless to resist.
Is this the way?
She ponders and broods.
Imagines the rope, tied with affection. Love?
Maybe not love…
When bound and constrained, resistance is futile.
Slowly, desire percolates, drip by drip.
So does peace.
Internal, and eternal.
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