Trust can be sought but only sometimes found. The one who seeks this trust may not always be pleased with the results. Harsh realities dawn on those that are easily effected and will take them from themselves. Falling rain or the wonders of the sky cannot engage them. Food seems like sand on the tongue and breathing can seem like an arduous task. How do you go home after something like that? How do you even contemplate continuing with life or functioning as a living being? Can you live as well as exist? The injured party might wish death or dark things on the wrong doer but in the end death atones for nothing. The only true judgment of a man is his own soul. It is a mistake to assume that everyone feels this way after a traumatic event, after all, humans are diverse creatures and with it come different methods of coping.
Of course, once a person has experienced such an event or several events, that person might simply negate anything with a wall. It is the fear of the dark, a night best forgotten, the loss of security... Even a balled fist. It is all of these things and yet it is none of them. Something can be given and it will silently be erased. Something can be built but secretly concealed. Misplaced admiration can be stolen but never lost. A mask can be worn to hide the true desolation within but the truth is that there is a reality that only that person can see, a face that only one person may witness. No mirror can reveal its identity to physical eyes. That is the nature of this honesty. If this is not anger or hate then is this escapism? Perhaps, but if there is nothing to support such ideas then how can an event be even considered as escapism? Is it not more of a mechanism, a primal instinct to protect what is selfishly most important?
Arguably it is freedom. Is it not better than a war within ourselves? There is no internal monologue that drives the sudden transition from love to hate, pride to guilt or ecstasy to woe. But, a ceasefire can only work for so long before the inevitable must resume. And resume, it will. It is the elephant in the room, failed to be mentioned. It is always witnessed but not always truly seen. Unsurprising considering most want more than they have. Nothing is ever enough. A person in their world might only see through those eyes; held hands birth only fire, an embrace spurns only disgust. It is a singularity that cannot be feasible, yet it exists. To these people, regret accomplishes very little or perhaps nothing. There is no room for such a consideration but at the same time, there is no room for anything else. Is there truly any other way of being free?
It may be a hollow existence but there is nothing that can tear you apart, no hidden vipers, no loss. There is no loss. Could every man and woman live a life without loss? Could every child learn without such a lesson? It might be honesty in its purest form and it might be a form of solace in solitude but it is a hollow solace. An unfulfilled cold life, a callous existence, perhaps even clinical but it is still an existence and as with all things, it must one day come to an end. Nothing is never-ending, no matter how it might seem so. In the end, it is safer to hide behind a mask. Then no one will consider the hollow feeling alien. They will not even notice it. How do you express emptiness, the very nature of the word defies description. An oxymoron. Survival is written into humanityâ€™s own DNA. An existence such as this is to survive, not to live.