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I'm walking home right now.

The other day I saw a butterfly fluttering around. Suddenly, a bird swooped down to snatch it out of the air. Before the bird could grab the butterfly in its beak, another bird swooped down and attacked the first bird. The two birds struggled in flight for a moment before going their separate ways.

And the butterfly fluttered away.

It's tempting to read into the story with some bullshit insight about how people can overcome their differences to help each other and accomplish good things which can then be applied to racism and intolerance and such. Or maybe it was a story about how lucky people can be without realizing it--or appreciating it.

But I think the best interpretation is that it's easier for people to hate each other.

I've been working on being less bitter and cynical because I haven't earned the right to be. I don't have enough jaded years under my belt to justify a world-weary attitude. And, more importantly, I don't need to be. I shouldn't be. I'm better than that. She makes me want to, you know, hug the world. Not that she does. I just feel bad being so misanthropic.

It's funny, though. People always think I'm off the edge when I get into my people-hating phases but when they share my experiences, they end up doing the exact same.

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