She is still a young girl and can take all the time she should. Life has only begun, even if it cannot be like the one before. Still alive, still with chances, she is too young to approach the world with such unforgiving rancor and unease. Now comes the question of to trust again, to face again, to live again.Īll it takes is to ask for help. Humans, though, have the much eclectic but capricious source: another human. All it takes is the will to grow and the resources - like plants need water and sun.
Life persists one way or another, as does humanity. Like a burnt forest, the scorched ground does not mean nothing will grow.
Humans are not limited materials, they are organic and thriving beings. That was the harrowing part that Sophie faced in her youth. The past cannot be undone and the ‘self’ of then will not come back. ( What done is done, forever in the past. But it is neither satisfying, comforting, nor helpful as someone wishes it to be. An unfair but realistic answer that helps answer something. The reason for it is nonexistent and no answer can be found as to why life came to be this way. A child who should’ve been given the chance to grow, but never had the time nor place. Such words belong to one whose self becomes estranged with each passing day, her 'self’ succumbing to the void of emotional turmoil. The one meant to find it would and she managed to. Towards the corner and in such small scripture is where someone find the apology and admittance.
Scrawled in black ink, the words are unnoticeable to the naked eye from its position alone. Voiceless confession inked, Sophie’s calloused fingers trace over hesitant and rewritten words.
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On the wall: I’m sorry I don’t know how to express myself.