Post Script of the Unimaginative

I can see her crying. Tears stream down her face like open rivers with no place to go. She is but a stranger in a sea of them. She is different. She stands out as her tears fall to the ground. No one pauses to help her. A glance and they keep on going. Beyond my very own observation, I am no better. I don’t care. We are all dying inside. One step from our tears joining together.

Her tears only spell weakness in a world so harsh watching someone die seems to be the real past time. Why should I care about her and her problems? I don’t know her and I don’t really care to get to know her. She keeps on moving and I keep sitting. The world turns even in deep sadness. Judgment past in but an instant. Not enough thoughts in my mind to care anymore.

We all live in our own perfect tragedies. Incentivised by our very own pain. Layer after layer added until it becomes too much to bare. Crushing under the defeat of our own simple emotions. We create so much pain to dwell on. When in reality nothing beyond what is in front of you matters.

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We often overlook true pain even when it is staring us right in the face… It wasn’t my place to ask what was wrong… Maybe I could have helped her?… Maybe she didn’t need my help?… No idea… But it was enough for past me to dwell on as I waited for my bus… 

ThreadlessAmazon… You know while you are waiting… Something to pass the time… 

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