30.10A Poem by Heilig
I hate my birthdays, 'cause it doesn't matter how hard I try,
I wait for this day like I wait for the blue sky in dark days to feel alive. But the day's the same Like three hundred sixty four other days Except one thing I suddenly feel something: People remember that I am still here, That I exist, and there's no more fear To spend this "special" days alone. Do I actually have friends? Do I have a place to go? But in the end the day is over And I am just older. © 2018 Heilig
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