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Standing at the waterside,
a million weathered stones at my feet.
The flat and smooth ones
skip across the ripples
They all sink.
Like a billion intricate snowflakes,
unique yet doomed,
they all melt.
The fate of the spring butterfly
can bring sadness,
fluttering through a short life.
But the journey from flower
to flower is like my journey
and like your journey.
It’s how they spend their day.
I can’t be sensitive to
their varied colors and shapes.
All of their differences just add
up to a sameness like a negative
times a negative equals a positive.
It’s this sameness I embrace.
Every stone I skip, every snowflake,
every monarch that’s ever touched
its tongue to the everyday daisy.