www.whyville.net Dec 25, 2011 Weekly Issue

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Good Enough

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All your fragile years in life you've been constantly put down and judged. You've witnessed enough tears, heartbreaks and mental breakdowns for a lifetime. The smiles you see aren't meant to be supportive or encouraging you and you're very aware. You've shut yourself up in that box for years yet you're aware of the flaws the human race contains. All alone, crying your eyes out during those miserable nights, hoping maybe you would get struck by lightning to prevent you from waking up the next day.

You desperately wish for this lonesome journey to come to an absolute and abrupt end. After all, what's the point of living life if you can't satisfy the standards of those selfish hands around you? Actually, what's the point in living at all? All the human race does is consume resources and harshly intimidate each other. Pointing fingers and faking smiles at each other won't hide the fact that we're all greedy and inconsiderate. They press and press you down until your weak point breaks in one sudden motion, dragging everything you've become down with you. Dragging everything you are and will be into a bottomless pit of neglect and hatred.

I comprehend, I feel, I sense what you're battling. The lies you feed the hungry bystanders are meant only for the protection of those you love but offer you nothing in return. Before you allow your bare feet to glide across this vast emptiness, take a moment and ponder. Are you good enough? Discard the immediate "no" that comes to your mind and allow the question to sink in.

Raised by the cruelest of the cruel, neglected, abused, abandoned, betrayed yet still regretfully inhaling and exhaling. It'd be foolish not to admit that you've overcome the obstacles, you're faint and weakened, but you still overcame them. You've lost the ability to trust anyone and to allow yourself to love and to be loved but you've gained so much as well. You're strong, stronger than any warrior. Your pure red heart remains flaring and your creative mind is racing for a way out. Racing . . . running to the end.

I see you're still determined to venture as far away from here as possible. To outrun your mistakes and faults and abandon all the hate. Your stubborn being will refuse to collect anything with you. No, you'll just run, barefoot and empty, into nothing; emptiness; nowhere. Before you go, may I ask a last favor my dear friend? One that you promise you'll keep and go to all ends to make sure it remains whole? Take me with you. Hold my hand and let us run. Far, far away, from misery and despair. We'll run until our hearts stop beating because I refuse to let you go. We'll just run, because your good enough . . . to me.


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