I feel shiftless, a piece of flotsam floating along the current.
There's some thing, some part of myself that is missing and I can almost see it. I can feel it against my fingertips but I can't grasp it.
It's there, on the tip of my tongue but I can't quite taste it.
It's there, taunting me. Leaving me wanting and incomplete.
It's there, frustrating me with its absence.
It's there, and I can't have it yet.

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