I used to know a girl who hated herself and the world. She was hurt and she was scared. Most of all, she was angry. She could not accept the beauty of life because she was consumed in the meaninglessness of it. I love that girl. I wish I could hug her, but I do not think she would like me very much. She did not like people like me- people who were secure in the insecurity of life. She did not want to be happy because she wanted everyone around her to read her dark mind and feel her sadness.
I have been thinking lately that who I am today is a wonderful betrayal to that girl. It is possible that instead, who I am today is the person she secretly wanted to be.