These words are my tears. When you read them, your tongue
may taste the salt of your own tears. They are not tears of joy. They are the
tears wrought from the shrieks of terror of children everywhere, and they will
echo desperately for as long as humans walk the earth. Do you hear the echo, or
do you tune it out? Does it infringe on your pursuit of happiness? I am told
that happiness comes from within, but one would have to be deaf to the
dehumanizing clamor all around or as hardened as the slaughterer of children to
not feel on the inside in these times something that bears no resemblance to
happiness. I know you know about which I speak. It is this realization that
humanity is by nature capable of reducing itself to the level of insects. It is
no different than when you were a child and one among you (perhaps you) decimated
a school of ants. It was so amusing at the time, and yet now it feels
completely different. The only consolation that I see in it is that it was done
for one reason: to inflict pain. And to feel pain is to feel.
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