Heard from R about her pains and depression, mental ones for most of them, incurred by what she has been through in the past few weeks.
It would be ironic that at the end of my life I would realize that all I have done previously is a simple proof of my existing only to the detriment of others. Because I have done nothing. Because I have not done anything to make myself worthy.
Yes, to be myself is easy. To be that which is not or even opposing to myself is hard.
Am I evasive and elusive at one and the same time?
The rapport between two, to me, is a mystery forever.
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