No matter how much I see selfishness, it still never ceases to amaze me. The constant pushing to see how much I will accept and take, like slaps in the face while I strain my neck not to snap to the side, like poking my arm repeatedly to see how long I can stand it before I have to rub the aching away. It hurts no less to know that one will always be pitiful, will always be sad inside, although feigning to feel whole, but yet I now realize that it has absolutely nothing to do with who I am. The wishing to see growth is still there, watching a dying seed, hoping it will sprout, but knowing that it cannot will life into itself. Wishing in time of sadness for one that ripped apart hearts, when the one standing in front of you is giving love, is beyond anything I will ever understand. To even speak it and expect that acceptance is like thinking yourself God, even as you portray characteristics of the Devil. To not care how much words spoken from your tongue rip apart every piece of love that is given, yet wanting such unconditional devotion, is like playing Master to an animal already wounded and bleeding. There are no words to describe what you did, and I will not even express it directly. No use in it, for waving hands of the drowning, to one who's view is to narrow to see left or right, is useless. Have you ever stopped to consider that the reason you continually feel pain surrounding you is because you do nothing but give it?
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