The wind moves the clouds around the sky and my eyes dance with them.
The beauty changes
colours from grey to white to blue to
white again. I feel so stagnant
and small that pain
r
u
s
h
e
s
through my veins.
What does it mean to feel so
small
in this world?
So stationary and
stagnant?
Should I be
glad that
I feel anything at all?
It starts to rain.
The world is beautiful.
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