#55 It Spoke To Me

That seemingly endless blob of infinity. A deluge of harsh words; words that cut to the very depths of my soul. I could tell from the corrupted and unforgiving way it minced its words, along with my self-dignity, that that wasn't the voice I seek. The voice of truth was drowned out by the voice of circumstance, and of opportunity.

Malice.

Yet those troubles that seared warranted little attention.
Yet those troubles that seared warranted little attention. As yet.

Surprising unity in the face of adversity. But what irony; if I had thought myself least, I'd thought others lesser than even that, if it was possible.

No wait, that wasn't what I needed to hear.

How do you draw the lines between compassion and pity? I can't. All I know is to do what I need to do.

Perhaps that's what makes me human, beautifully imperfect. Because I suddenly lose the definition of pain when I see someone else hurting.

Or do I? For a moment I felt the same way, even hopelessness.

And after a roundabout of mental mojo, I finally come to the conclusion. I was wrong all along.

What goes around, comes around. I feel much better already.

In any case. Sorry.