I’ve come across various kinds of people in life, through various different circumstances. I’ve met people well satisfied with their life, living every moment as if it was their last, appreciating the present, and forgetting the past.
And then there were those who could barely breathe. I could look them in the eyes and tell the difference. It was as if their soul had been torn apart, crushed into bits, and burnt down, time and again. Everything about them was dark, gloomy, and full of despair. Shabby looking, unkempt, no goddamn sentiments towards society. And that is why, from quite an early stage in life, I wanted to be in the former category.
Look at me now. I’m sad, lonely, caressed. I have dreams that you would consider nightmares, and would never talk about. I have thoughts that, if considered, could destroy me, with every considerable aspect. I have come so far, and only now have I known, what lies beyond all of this.
Only now, have I come to realize how wrong I had always been. That people who seem happy, are, sometimes, the saddest of all. And people who look sad, are dying underneath.
How wonderfully twisted is this, you tell me? How can all these smiles hide something so broken inside? How is it that the people who care the most, are the ones least cared for?
I guess I’ll never understand it, so I’ll just have to pretend to be one of them. Like every broken soul is doing right now, in some place or the other. I guess I’ll have to pretend to be happy.