these are things that no longer matter
much to me. I had to let them go
when I let go of my name. Faces,
voices, laughs, are distant memories.
Feral in appearance, I struggle to
keep my mind together enough
to remember I was one of many
of our kind who lived. The tried
earth carries on, though, it is weary.
Everywhere I walk I enter into
another cemetery. Water tastes so
sweet when it touches my lips.
I was an ungrateful child. All of us
were. I rest in the shade of a tree.
The heat becomes waves I can see.
I feel the wind touch me. Go further,
Child. You must. Yes, I must.
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