in the middle of a wheat field on a sunny day, the air crisp and clean as the window blows, and telling the direction of which way is difficult, but i feel covered by all sides. the bones picked clean that protrudes through the surface of the earth, discovered by soil erosion because time is meant to heal all wounds, but instead it exposes mine.
it's not so bad because the sun shines on me, and everything else.
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it's not so bad because the sun shines on me, and everything else.