Soft whispers cannot be met with hard ears. And they’re all hard, and harsh, and loud. All of them. Even if I were to yell at the very top of my lungs I would not be heard. Not over their noise, and their mess, and their preoccupations.
Those who do not wish to hear will not.
I cannot help but despise them. I regard them with contempt, and I desperately wish it could be otherwise, yet tell me how they can all turn away and continue to feel so comfortable? How do they walk, unburdened. Do they have a secret? Or are they simply stronger? I think I am jealous.
I was born so fragile that even the wind could shatter me.
We are all fragile and we are all strong. And those who do not wish to hear should not even be told. You will find someone worth telling.
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