Foreign

The streaks of cotton candy pink searing through the dirty blue overcast makes me sceptical of the looming future. Disturbed by the false realities, we are subjected to othering –  the romanticised idea of the foreign which makes it easier to dismiss fellowmen as lessers; Less human and less worthy of respect. Some nights I question myself; is anyone worthy of alienation? All that is left would be a broken heart, not even grief can salvage. Most nights I question, my existence, more than anything else in the world. Is love or death the chance for re-integration?

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