Too often do we dance and fool our youth away, too often do we attempt to love without knowing how, too often do we write letters that end up in the hearth, too often do we get agitated by the song of the simple bird, too often do we hate and forget to pity those whom we despise, too often do we cage the blue bird in our heart, too often do we lie, not to the world but to ourselves, too often we ponder, speak, and forget action behind, too often do we ignore ourselves, too often do we ignore each other.
Too often do the authors try to paint the world with colours of big words and elegant sentences, yet as beautiful it may seem to the eye, the world they paint is far too artificial, far too unnatural, far too normal.
We do it all too often; we hate without reason, we believe without proof, we forget that hate is the work of the unloved, we live our lives as if they’re shows for everyone else, we become bitter wolves with venomous fangs and poisonous tongues, we rip at each other, with words, with thoughts, with deeds of every kind.
Too often we forget our humanity behind.
