Hopefully nobody out there hates me. I can see why they would, but that doesn't mean I regret why they might hate me.
And now my happy poem:
Near to tears, even hindsight is shaded.
When did life become a jumble of motions?
Gestures of kindness becoming gestures of habit.
When did life turn from whispering secrets,
to divulging them?
-Hide and
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