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Sunday, January 7, 2018. Written sometime in 2015 or 2016. You have forgotten what the rain feels like on your face. You have forgotten how to smile. You have forgotten how the angry, persistent droplets of water hit your chest. And drench you and soak you. The thoughts about the emotions stemming from the perceptions of a false reality. Is you in the rain. Can you remember how to breathe without pain? Can you feel your fingers move. That, that, that is the you.
The Seraphim were leading their asses to the river to drink, tossing flower petals before them to signify victory; and bread crumbs behind them, so they could find their way back. But Lo, the brightly shining Angels.