Copping a literary feel

I wonder whether one can know something without experiencing it, whether beauty is appreciable without knowing what it is that makes it beautiful.

it is being comfortable in someone else's arms, to exist, incapable of differentiating between the singular and the plural, knowing there is duality but being driven into utopia with encompassing oneness.

it is protector and protectorate, where neither are as protective or as protected alone as together. It's a drug questioning why happiness can't be being high all the time. Pleasure isn't a necessity, but this is a need to know pleasure.

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