The world (especially the west) watches the colonizers attacking innocent Palestinian people and no one is doing anything. The Palestinians can't go anywhere. Children are crying. Children are getting killed on their own land that is being oppressed for decades.
It's astonishingly difficult to believe that anyone could be thinking about me right now, and more difficult to believe that someone in this very world would look at me someday like I were to define the word beauty. Like I were a piece of art that some reknown painter had exhibited his skills upon. Like I were to be the answer to of all his silent and fondest prayers. What makes it difficult for me to believe that someone would one day acknowledge how complex I am ? Maybe it's because the root of it all that is Love, seems to be abstract in practicality and that it only exists in books, arts, music, and so forth.