It’s a cool evening and the world outside is as it should be, or is it?
Who are all those peolple walking out in the street? Do they look like me? Are they not the proud disillusioned species I have heard of?
These people know they have injuries. They know they have terrible festering sores on their bodies. They know they have skeletons in the cupboards. They know they have a monsters they are breeding in their closets. They tell themselves they do not like the monsters. They know the monsters are disgusting. The monsters are dangerous. But they are yet to part with the monsters. They are living ill at ease with these monsters.
Enter a friend. They tell their friends to be honest with them. They tell their friends to trust them. They appear empathetic -feel what their friends are feeling.
Trust earned. The friends, who also have injuries, show them their injuries. They show pity. The friends show them their sores, they start feeling disgusted. The friends then take them to their houses, show them their monsters. These people scram!
What were they expecting when they asked for honesty?
Don’t they have the same monsters at home? Oh! I get it: their own monsters have only two fangs; not like their friends’ monsters with four fangs!
I am just here. Alone with myself. I am the one who has the right to be critical, cold and harsh just as they are, because I am just a thought. I don’t act! Yet, I can only just pity them.
My turn to be sympathetic!