So. I'm going to be writing this in English. So that everyone and anyone can understand the meaning of this. What I'm about to adress is something that I've thought about quite much recently.

When I was a kid and went to school. We were a lot of kids, from different areas. Either within our hometown or from outside the area. There were people from the countryside. There were people from the high end parts of town and there was also people from other countries.

Now as a kid. I remember that I didn't judge any or the kids. I didn't think there were anything to be noticeable about them. They were in fact just regular kids at my school. They were my classmates, my teammates at gym class and we all got along. We played on the same playground and there was nothing more about it. We were just doing what kids do.

But as I got older I started hearing things from different types of people. Like: look at his skin, it's not like ours, that's not normal, look at his hair it's not like ours, and his eyes well they're not like ours either.

I got very conflicted towards this, seeing how people I saw happily playing with each other in kindergarten suddenly started avoiding friends they have had since then just cause someone said to a child that people who have another skin colour, eye colour, style of hair are someone you don't want to be associated with.

I never listened then. I never will. I will always go my own way. And wether or not anyone approves or disapproves of that...

I will always say the same thing. Fuck that shit. I will never judge someone because of where they're from. And that's it.

End of discussion.

Vissa dagar rinner dom bara. Jag kan inte stoppa dom. Dom bara kommer. Minnen som får de att bildas. Fragment av minnen som är en del av mig. Som är så sjukt svåra att bli av med.

Om jag fick önska så skulle det aldrig ha hänt, om jag fick önska så skulle jag vilja vara den jag var. Men det fungerar inte så. Det är en del av mig, en del av den kamp jag måste gå igenom för att kunna komma ut på andra sidan.

De rinner än, om ens lite mindre. Och lite mer sällan. De bara kommer ibland.

Vissa dagar rinner dom bara. Jag kan inte stoppa dom. Dom bara kommer.

Droppe efter droppe..

Tår efter tår...