It


I can't rid myself of it.
This gloomy attribute that diminishes my light,
But creates something beautiful.
Like a lone cloud on a sunny day,
It sets me apart.
And like a speck of pollen in a wide valley of grass,
It secludes me.

An open gate, it grants me opportunity.
A field of torn grass and beaten branches, it limits me.

We are all snowflakes on a warm day.
With different appearances, we are unique,
Yet don't we all just want to fall as slowly as possible.
We want to stick, not melt away.

A flower doesn't choose its color,
A root doesn't choose what it is a root for.
All they can do is accept.

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