Danger. 

Years of friendship down the drain, beyond the professionalism that was never even there in the first place. This is such a classic case of losing everything – even if the everything might have been built upon pretentious relationships and layered lies. Money, time, youth, emotions and life. 

It still hurts. Betrayal always hurts. 

Who’s to say that being tired is excuse enough to stab backs? Why not just say that this is not worth your time and effort, and that’s just the way you roll? Why so secretive, in an age when mouths are always spread open? Where’s the ownership to the actions and conversations that happened – or is none needed because the majority agreed? 

Is the majority always right? 

What if this happened to the rest of us? Would we feel okay? What would we do? Can you swear that there would be no sorrow in your bones and that you wouldn’t break to further fuel anger? 

For me, being on the outside, it is just disappointment. These people are nice to me. But how nice can they be when they treat someone I know, or anyone for that matter, so cruelly? 

Such a perpetuated pattern on names upon names. People upon people. 

It is a scary statement of how cruel we can get when we no longer care about someone, but have no guts to leave. 

I don’t even know what to think or how to feel any longer. Suddenly my eyes are so clear and I recognise what I can do to someone else, as this example is a small act of violence. All human-beings are capable of the same things. We are no different from each other, only that we know our own intentions and reasons and are so delusioned that our reasons are always the “right” reasons to justify our actions. 

But I don’t think violence can ever be justified. No reason is good enough, and no faith is great enough to lift the responsibility. 

How can this be? 

How do we wish for more love for ourselves, when we can’t even love the people close to us well? How do we love when we only know how to love ourselves and no one else? 

How? 

We have become so dangerous. Sure, our knives may be blunt and with “good intentions” but all knives stab and the blunt ones hurt the most. 

I feel sadness more often than I really should. 

In a state of disbelief with no more voice to speak. 

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