“Anything worth dying for ... is certainly worth living for.”
― Joseph Heller, Catch 22
Black, white, yellow skin...
would it be strange if I marvel more that we have skin?
Retinas, fingers... and a heart that never tires, stopping only at the last breath.
How can someone be your pain, but also your joy?
How is it that even in a wrinkly, old body, you can find the surest of delights and loveliness emanating true?
How is it that even to the most unlovable, love pulsates unhindered, so unreservedly?

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