A dis-ease.
I am a child who cannot seem to stop fretting over her clothes. It feels a little too tight here, a little itchy there, quite cumbersome over here, and just impossible everywhere else. No, I am not quite comfortable in this skin. Whether it is new, or old, I can't really tell. All I know is that it's incredibly different from what I had gotten used to. If it is new, then I suppose I just need some time to get used to it. But if it is old--that is, if it is the same as what I had always had, but had been worn down and soiled by time--then I must believe that a time is coming when I will finally be able to break out of it and revel in the glory of...
In the meantime, I must keep myself from scratching too hard, lest I wound myself. Time, and the infinite grace of God, shall be my guide.
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