We always used to joke about me being an alien. We made up stories involving who I was and what aliens did trying to fit in too normal society.
It's a good thing I'm an alien, humans can't exist without oxygen, yet here I am.
I miss him.
I know he hates me now. I understand why he reacted the way he did. But somehow it doesn't make me love him less. There is a compassion there that seems unreasonable.
I dream about him every night so every morning he's on my mind. Which, I don't think is fair.
I don't understand God.
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