Stream of Consciousness, Kinda

I am reading the same words when Lou Reed started to sing. But this time, I am not at the shore anymore. I am in my room. Slouched but leaning back too much. Book atop my stomach. I am not alone anymore. He’s reading in my bed. Legs hanging, feet slightly touching the floor. Polite hesitance.

Sometimes I feel so heavy. Sometimes I feel so sad. It’s like the same moment but in totally different circumstance. Carlo Rovelli says:

There is no such thing as a real void, one that is completely empty. Just as the calmest sea looked at closely sways and trembles, however slightly, so the fields that form the world are subject to minute fluctuations, and it is possible to imagine its basic particles having brief and ephemeral existences, continually created and destroyed by these movements.

He was talking about quarks. But I know nothing about physics. I know serendipity, however.


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