یه جور انزجارِ مقدس زیرِ کف‌پوش‌ها داره می‌پوسه، عزیزم میشه لطفا یه نگاهی بهش بندازی؟

شاید عمیق‌ترین شکلِ بیزاری همین باشد؛ نه نفرتی که هنوز انرژیِ جنگیدن دارد، بلکه بی‌اعتناییِ مطلقی که پس از آن می‌آید. وقتی چیزی آن‌قدر نامتناسب با توست که دیگر حتی ارزشِ خشمگین شدنت را هم ندارد، تنها کاری که می‌کنی این است که از آن عبور می‌کنی و پشت سرت را نگاه نمی‌کنی.

با خونریزیِ ذهنی در امتدادِ انحنای آفرینش، با رسالتی که قابل انجام است، برای شفقتی که قابل انجام نیست.

And just like that, you're suddenly hyper aware of the blood in your veins. Of the rotting flesh tightly wrapped around your bones. Of your eyes rolling around in their empty sockets. Of the stinging pain in your stomach. Of the hole inside your chest burning up as it gets bigger and bigger.
The all consuming "love" you feel vanishing in an instant. As quickly as it came. And hatred taking it's place the moment it's gone. As if nothing you felt was ever really there. Like it'll all turn to ash one way or another. Nothing is constant in your life. Nothing but the growing numbness to the pain you feel. And the guilt of not being able to.
That voice in the back of your head saying "you don't deserve this" when you finally get an ounce of love. Your gut twisting in disgust at any form of affection, knowing you can't return it even with how badly you want to. Your eyes blurry from the tears that stain your nonchalant face. And the faded scars only you can see reminding you of the monster you are.