I read children's books about the seasons, months. April. "April, April, green and brown, bells on your collar and willow on crown." While all the reminders remember April differently. April is my sleepless month, like hers is March. April is leaving while deciding to stay. Staying while deciding to leave. Contraindications (not to be confused
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I'm sure there's some solid philosophical theory on it all. To me, it's mostly testament of how involved in my own perceptions I am. Namely, because I"m horribly involved in my own thoughts/dreams/imagination. Forever the lonely kid at recess.
I'm glad you're here, helping me build compassion.
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