Catastrophe. Excruciation. Resurgence. Comments

The strings of fate had woven a tragedy. The parallel words collapse into collision. Harmony, an unwitnessed rarity, slips out of reach. Humanity, as always, falls prey to groundless hatred. The devil is in the details, they recite. Maybe, the angel will grace us with her presence, I whisper.

Dangling into motion like lifeless puppets on a string, we let our lives outlive us. I could laugh, I could cry. Nonetheless, the tears will leave my eyes as dry as trickling sand in the desert. It's not an overstatement to declare this a predictable disaster. With the way the world revolves and with the way people remain oblivious to the obvious, denial would be a futile resistance. Acceptance appears equivalent to giving up.
...
Read full text