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I can lift the cup, but it will not fill itself. I can empty it and go on lifting it as though it is full and it will not satisfy my thirst. I can drink until I’m empty and I cannot be satisfied. I can lift myself up over and over and the cup is still half-there, half-imagined. I can imagine a thirst that fills itself, a fullness that is empty. I can empty my cup and still be satisfied. I am halfway there and I can keep at this until I am this. I can thirst for the other half of what I have already imagined until I am full.
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