I'm starting to think that I may never know what right is.
In that, I find no solitude.
But I believe, too,
that such incognition
may be anything but mutually exclusive.
We all feel pain,
and mine is worse than yours by rite.
By writ!
A solace as undeserved as the breath yet laboring.
Exclusivity earned in spite of its understanding.
Why then do we suffer?
Sharing is the first of the facades that
we are taught.
Overcoming intrinsic greed is the fallacy of
our collective hope.
We give only but because we want.
Love is the most selfish of acts,
paradoxically selfless in the same.
Which is how I fear how I love without loving
and maybe why I hate how I love.
Why do the answers so often go unquestioned?
Rationalizations are subjective,
perchance.
And so we spitefully expire while hoping to inspire
when perhaps found is in the finding all along.
To earn without earning
and to deserve absent entitlement
mocks reality.
But to hurt?
Maybe that is to be.
And if so, that means that just maybe...
I've been the wrong right throughout.
