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I walk down the rainy street and look at all the people around me; all of their broken expressions. Every one of them hiding behind a mask. Every one of them hiding some horrible story. Every one of them looking at the floor, trying so hard not to meet anyone's eyes. And I wonder, how many broken people are here in this world? By how many suicidal, depressed, sad or in any way issued people do I pass everyday, while walking down the street? How many of them go around with toxic voices in their exhausted minds, trying to find a purpose in their lives? Has it really come down to this? Are we all just surrounded by the ghosts with beating hearts?
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11/03/18
