Desensitized

I see the photo of the man who murdered his brother and the daughter who just lost her father and mother. I hear the stories of youth who died for their cause of the woman who protested against their laws, and as the faces of victims show up one by one, flashing by quickly, they say the horror has only begun! I watch as they cry and they scream for the loss of a life they didn’t even know but somehow they deem worth breaking down and crying for even though a million more just like him died in the same war. They say they can feel the pain of another’s ordeal that they too need time to heal. I know the situation. I know their pain is real. So, why can’t I feel what they all seem to feel? I don’t cry when they tell of a child gone missing, of two lovers who died without ever kissing. Am I broken and hopeless and empty inside? Is it bad that I never turned on the news and cried? To me they are just numbers, another soul lost A casualty of this war we will win “whatever the cost!” A fight against what I’m not sure, but I know I won’t shed a tear until death comes to my door.