Powdered Almonds

He was tripping, stumbling on clouds. Big goofy grin on his face. Every third step took him a step higher. With eyes half closed he smelled the roses. With arms wide open he took in the view. Light seeping and cascading off of every corner, light that seemed to dance, to breath. Light that warmed the lungs when you inhaled the sweet aroma. Light that sparkled and cast a golden fuzz on everything it touched. He danced, skipped, swam and ran on the thankful meadow. Others scorned and laughed and pointed. Sometimes he too saw the blood, but he knew this was better than surrender.

It had to be. Had to be.

She was gliding, flowing on the broken glass. With eyes wide open she tiptoed around, avoiding the thorns. With arms folded tightly she considered the sight. Too brightly the light shone on the broken scene. All you could taste was pollution if you inhaled. Eyes stinging, she looked for the man with the bruises on his skin. There he was, trampling on the grass, getting spit on by the people he called friends. Noone called her friend. But she wouldn't get hurt this way so it was better.

It had to be. Had to be.

So tell me, which is better?