I close my eyes and let the leaves swirl around me. They fade in and out, changing from crimson leaves to swirling snowflakes to dainty floating petals to salty sea spray. Always changing, churning in a continuous cycle from season to season.
Change, change, change.
The word is sour on my tongue. I spit it into the changing seasons, but they swallow my hatred whole, transforming it into something beautiful. I’m tired of beautiful. I’m tired of the world acting like my pain and suffering are simply a figment of my overactive imagination. I’m tired of
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