Why is the world shrouded in mist, always?
I love the mist, the moisture, the cool dampness, the
feeling of connection. But why? Even the mists hiding not in
Nobody else is willing to look in the mists for me, nobody
is willing to come to me, I have to always head out to them,
reach to them. Am I not worth it? Is there some part of me
that is flawed and unworthy of anyone reaching for me?
Will I always be the one who has to bridge the gap?
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