I am broken.
Into microscopic pieces.
Pieces that are too small to find and put back together.
They are fragile.
Do not touch them, for they will break.
Let them heal by themselves.
If even possible.
Not even an eternity would be long enough to heal this curs-ed hurt.
I wish upon a star that I were stronger than this naive child that I am.
For I know nothing.
Nothing that will make me knowledgable, wiser, or anything else one might be.
For I am invisible and unnoticed.
So what does it matter?
I might run away, to leave all my stuggles behind.
I shall put my problems in a suitcase, and they will run away instead.
But where would they go?
Might they just bother another person?
My burdens put on them?
What fair is that?
Is this world so twisted with eveil desires that I have yet to know?
Might I already know the answer, but only dread to say it?