March has ended. Thank God for that, I guess.
I wanted to write something about responsibility and mercy. There was this one time I was very frustrated because I had a long argument, and eventually turned into a meaningless fight, with my mother about how everything is a responsibility for me and not something I can choose, to have mercy upon.
And it's so saddening how people can't see how I see things.
Of course I see everyone as my responsibility. Isn't it apparent from my actions, and my way of dealing with things?
I just don't want to say it out loud because it's such a tiring thought for me.
I just wanted to die back then. And yet I persevered. Even when every bullet seems to hit me and tore holes in my body, I kept moving.
It's just sad that I have to lose everyone before my time comes.
And it's just sad that I will never be enough.
