Imma Ijit laughs at herself. Erhmah? She's small, not substantial, and quiet. She'd like to fade away; shame and guilt and low self-worth and the worst self-esteem possible makes her very shaky. She thinks she's always wrong, always not enough, and always ready to fade from existence. She rarely smiles and rarely opens her eyes and lifts her head and meets folk's gazes. She whispers and cringes and cowers. I know this slip of a girl very very well. Perhaps better than Imma. Isn't that so very sad? yeah. yeah, i know.