‘the world is full of kind people. if you can’t find one, be one.’
what if the world around you told you they didn’t need your love? it would only be forced into their veins, like painkillers through injections and tubes. my dear, their skin is made of concrete and your gentle shower of love will never permeate their souls. words, soaked in honey, will trickle off their faces, never felt, never heard.
sure, you could do a little favour for someone or tell the cashier to keep the change, or hold open the door for a stranger, but how much do they ache for this benevolence? will you be remembered, or will you dissolve away into the crevices of their minds, like trifling dates of the past, like an ordinary dinner they had last week, like all the kind people eventually do?
