it’s hard being a single unit in a world of pairs. the toxic smoke the Fabric sends our way is easy for the ones whose lungs were born to digest it. but the “pure” lambs just can’t settle. the need for a group is instinctual, but their One isn’t an option for us black ones. We don’t roll that way, never have, never will. the thing is, most of us are fine with our color, we vibe and thrive in our corners. but not me, my wool feels green, unique, stellar, and fluorescent. the thing is, there is no rule for someone like me. Is it solitude, is it friendship and a corner of my own, to dye my wool white once a week or pretend that mines black? hide in the shadows and hope no one realises the esmerald spark my soul naturally produces? it’s confusing and lonely, no matter where or when. it just feels like i’m constantly adrift. is there a true space in the puzzle of the human race for my edgeless piece?