Platonic.

Situations.

One and the same. All of us. We're all the same. We all bleed the same red blood, cry the same wet tears, even breathe the same air. But alas, you cannot expect from the world. Can you?
We, as humans, maybe similar but it's every man for himself. I had been taught that that's not how it is.
Oh boy, they say even the most experienced can be wrong. They aren't wrong. It's the way life twists around them and unravels the brutality is that they are left wronged.
What happened to the perfection that we call childhood? What happened that broke those who made me? The people who taught me that once you take a step, the world will be with you have been forced to tell me to be a person for myself. How all the people who made me smile have turned into the ones who cannot bear the sight of my smile? I feel lost in every sense and meaning. I don't know if even my own blood is worth trusting. I wished to know what my fault was. Turns out. When looking for blame, every step you take can turn into a flaw and fault.
Maybe this is meant to be. Maybe that's how it's supposed to be. Maybe that is the answer to my question of why I find comfort in the secluded grasps of the dark. And maybe, that's where I'm bound to be. For the brightness of the lights is a greater push towards it than the chains that pull me towards it...