There aren’t many people out. The virtue of rain. In contrast to yesterday’s spring time air it's like a curse from an angry god and the villagers are too scared to leave their huts. Ha ha. We like to think we’re better than. But nothing has changed in millennia.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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