When I was little, I was approached by a man.
He knelt down next to me when nobody was looking and told me good things only happen to good people. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that back then, but it’s becoming a bit more clear to me as time goes on. Maybe it was the rips in my dress or the bruises on my face that gave it away.
Even back then, he knew I wasn’t a good person.
I saw the same man again two years later, dressed in the same armor with the same haircut he had before, as if time couldn’t touch him. I approached him first this…
