If I can’t know you unless I have been you,
Then there’s no you or me to talk at all;
The passageways are there, I think,
They’re there for our availing
To understand as best we can
Within the boundaries of our limitations.

If you can’t know my life unless you’ve lived it,
Then there’s no point in talking, anyway;
For every monad touches, then, no other.
But still, the passageways are there;
If we don’t give up looking,
Or quit trying

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