Journal entry #1 – Heartbroken

Love. Often think about if love in this day and age is dead. Dead in a family-like sense. Like, Do we just love ourselves, or are we just afraid of loving each other during times so divided? Maybe, it’s an unlikely fusion of both…

Of course, we must love ourselves no matter what crisis may invade our shape-shifting minds. But, at what point do we stop and say, “Hey, are you okay?” when coming across somebody in obvious pain, regardless of the amount? What are the limitations to reaching out your hands to a soul slipping on ice? Is there a time limit? If their pain is less than anything you have ever felt, do you pretend to not see anything and keep walking away? Who knows…

One thing’s for sure, though. That ball of mixed emotions bouncing around the inner walls of our beating hearts. A ball we all have to get a hold of, eventually, and make the pass or shot you feel is right. But, like in basketball, that pass or shot you may have made could’ve been the absolute wrong one. Hell, even if it was the right pass or shot, it doesn’t mean you’re going to get the score you were looking for…

One night, angrily walking back home from such a hard day at work, I grabbed that ball and decided to make an assist. At first I was in motion to take my shot, tried walking away from an individual I had seen asking for some money to buy food. But, I couldn’t help it. I kind of made a pump-fake and walked back in hopes I could assist. And I did, gave up my last five dollars for the night knowing it’ll come back to me somehow…

Yet, on another occasion where I had seen him walk up the same strip I was walking past, he thought I was staring at him and said, “What the fuck are you looking at?” Definitely was expecting a happier encounter after the help I was able to provide for him. But, it felt as if he grabbed my hand, opened my palms and spit right on the middle of each crease. I wasn’t angry, more so shocked and disappointed. Thus, coercing my mind to revolve around the question, what are the limitations when helping an individual being burnt by the fires of Hell they had ignited for themselves? Who knows…

Again, one thing’s for sure, though. I hate feeling that ball of mixed emotions, so, what else can you really do in order to release it from your pounding chest?

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