There's a crack in my curtains.
Light's coming through.
Makes sense- it's only half eight in summer.
I'm thinking about what could be out there.
Am I a pessimist for thinking it'll be boring and normal?
Am I an optimist for thinking that there's a magical world?
So what am I if I'm not sure?
Labels are confusing. Why bother?
It's just a crack in my curtains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
an insightful poem about our mind and ideas