I watched the world passed by me, and I eradicated myself from every possible scene for a second or two, making me feel as though I am one mythical creature that no one seemed to realize it’s existence. Like a ghost maybe. Some might drench me with nothing but sympathy, and some might do otherwise, but the path I had chosen had brought me to a sense where not a single thing could break me. And so, I live with no remorse but only with the sense of gratitude.
Blunders that I once made had bended me into a soul that I began to love. Perfection is mythical; at least, to me, it is. Perfection, is only said by many and not felt by any. Perfection is like fairytale, where everyone yearns for it, and ended up dying along the way, with an empty hand. They had squandered every second of their supposedly meaningful life, reaching out for something that can never be reached. Thus, making grief and sorrow as their companions.
Why must people laugh when a person had chosen to live life imperfectly? Or crush them for wanting to live a life of simplicity? Why must they ruin those lives of people who chose to live life for themselves and not for others? Why?
That, shall always remain as questions.