We hold others in disdain, at distance in disgust. We build walls to keep ourselves in, to keep them out, to preserve and prepare. Emotionally and physically, we do everything we can in regards to destroying the idea of those we don't want having any meaningful impact on us.
I consider most of us as nothing but spools of contradiction, puzzles of conceit and deceit. Myself, I ache for purity and goodness, strain against my every instinct and impulse to forgive all that has been wrought, all that has been done. But then this disdain seeps in, through my glands, in the air I breathe and the words that bleed between my ears.
Every horrible action that has been committed against me has been forgiven by me. Others seem incapable of understanding, unwilling to partake in this simple and supposedly common concept. They dig their trenches, they crawl over their walls, and ready their catapults. And so we inevitably both must march to war. But no more. (It will be a massacre)
I will carry what is left of my heart, wear it heavily as Atlas the earth, and present it for all to see. Every ache I feel will be plain to see, every throb a miracle to help me breathe. It will grow heavier as I walk along the paths I have chosen, and eventually it will break my back, leaving me for dead. A helping hand would carry me to the end of the road, but the hope for such a hand will make my heart beat all the more quickly; and the quicker the beat, the greater the blood, the more excruciating the pain beneath the weight.
Where could we go if we'd only learn to love and accept everyone?
Howards Alias, Time for Bed
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