Those of us who see only ugliness in ourselves could only offer as little as our whole being. Those of us who love so much could only beg for that love in return. Those of us who suffer could only ask for nothing but a head turned our way, a touch of sympathy or words of kindness. Those of us who would cross willingly the line between life and death could only hope for the tiniest pull from someone else — just someone to care even if it’s only temporary.

 

But there are times when the world just decides to deprive us of that little drop of life we are thirsty of.

 

People aren’t born monsters. People become one between answers untold and questions unasked. When the world doesn’t care enough to listen to that pleading voice between the silence, to hold the child inside the eye of a walking storm, to stop and look for a heart when everyone else says it does not exist, those of us learn to curse it instead.

 

And the world knew what our wrath means.

And the world knew what coldness means.

And the world felt what living and dying means at the same time.

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