Little Magic

Unblinking eyes blind in a distance, distant.
Blinded blurriness blind.
One mask within another. 
Intricate webs, delicately weaved as one of the other.
A face strangely stranger to a self, familiarly old.
Essences lingeringly lost.
Found. Unfound.
Moments pending discovery, new.

Magic.

What are we waiting for?

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