Whatever that might mean,
Generations have sought to define it,
Yet, it's never been seen,
It's yet to be proven that it exists,
Except for those who have,
But when they explain it to the others,
It's always sentimental and half-assed,
It's always mired in one's own feelings,
Which can't really be felt,
By the person reading words on a page.
For their heart to be melt,
They need real love,
Really, the goal of all,
For anyone trying to find meaning,
On this tiny, lonely, sad, mixed-up ball.
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