I was born on the chilliest winter morning, when everything was covered in frost and death, all the creatures were fighting hard for their survival and I was born, as someone disturbing the balance of life. Gaping for oxygen, a human who couldn't adjust even for their own survival, I never knew to settle for less I needed more, and more. Wrapped in a piece of cotton while everyone around me ran for (my) life, to bring me enough of it (life) that could satiate me. I was playing with death, the moment I got out of my safest place and masochism became my trait since then. I must be laughing with my closed eyes, like a little rebel that I was. I was born at the brink of dawn, but the sun rose a little late that day, I delayed life on the world, for my eyes in which sunshine was locked were kept close, dawn was struggling that morning, struggling against death. I was born with dawn in my eyes, future in my fist, and death in my lungs.
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