At times I really ponder
We were all born into the same world as infants
Empty books we all carried
There was no intention to hurt or get beaten up
Things that could have been controlled just got out of hand
Ultimately each one of us grows up into an adult bearing pain and hurt - pages torn, abused and burnt.
We're fortunate to even make it this far
After so many years of human existence, have we not learnt how to deal with this?
It's thoughts like this that lead me to believe in the greater power that is a god because we're all so imperfect. When we think we've figured it all out, it hits us that we're all clueless.
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