15.02.25,

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I walk,

though I break my feet with those chained, rusty, and sharp stars, I walked, through all of things.

Through the rough, to the gentle, through my own love.

I kept on walking. And I walked south, from the left or south, I walked.

Yet though I walk — it still hurts me,

all those cuts, they hurt me so much.

don't you believe? Through all of those.