everyone has a story.
some, beautifully written.
others with torn pages and blotched ink.
you read, absorb, comprehend.
you learn
the fears and hopes and well hidden pain
the mountain of anger and regrets
the beautiful smiles masking lonely hearts.
after awhile you realise
that empathy,
in its cold uncomfortableness,
hurts if you give too much.
still you grow,
strong enough to love the world
yet empty enough to dine with its demons.