I'm losing my soul like one loses pennies: Never realizing, at first, what's missing and then slowly coming to the crushing conclusion that you have no pennies left. That is if pennies were as important as souls. I lose myself a little bit everyday. Everyday that I don't open the book, I lose myself. Everyday that I don't bother smiling, I lose myself. Everyday that I don't offer help to anyone, I lose myself. Everyday that I stay still in my bed after waking up, trying to bring back the pretty dreams, I lose myself.
I do not want to lose myself.
But still I do.
In my dreams, I imagine the world to be light and fluffy and pink, raw in it's emotions and abundant in it's love. I picture people accepting me just as I am. Flawed. I picture myself happy.
But in reality, I live in a too-green world, with too-green creatures and I am Grey. They stare at me. With their hollowed eyes, they ask me why I did this to myself? Why did I become so imperfect?
As if I have a choice.
As if my brain is not it's messy, bloody self, folded more times then anyone can count. As if my brain is arrange and divided in neat pencil-drawn squares, all fulfilling their given tasks and I can just click the ''Perfect'' square and step away from all that's bad in me.
Why do people pretend that everything in this world is fine when in reality, there are children dying every day; mothers losing their sons; hunger taking over the world like a tyrant. How can anyone be happy when there is terrorism and corruption in the world, still. Why don't these thoughts mess with the sanity of other people, too. I see them laughing and crying over mundane things. I see them making mistakes, knowingly. I see them being the heartless, careless creatures that humans are famous for.
And it breaks my soul. Little by little, everyday.
Because I know. Because I see. The ugly truth that lies beneath the happy facade.
Because I know that one day, a bird will fly over the ruins of my hope, and will sing the song of destruction.
