MINUSCULE
Will these slow days heal me? The indistinct chatter, the random arguments of random people about random people they've never met, The crowded street of little motion filling the air with a sweaty scent, It all reminds me that the universe, in fact, does not revolve around myself, That more have felt worse pain, And less have known the kind of joy I've once had, Although now gone at least I have its memory to keep me young a little longer, I wonder how many can say the same.
