As I walk in the wet streets,pass people without any special interest,I can't help myself thinking there is something which makes me out of public.I don't wanna say that I'm special or I'm different or unique,but it's because I can't know them, can't get what is in their mind,their life.What is in their everyday life which frightens me?Why I can't be close to them?An unbroken glass cielling always separates me from the rest of poeple.But I also wanna know what's their story?It always harms me that I don't know the value of people whom I pass without care.I can't appreciate those who had made world a better place to live,and often ask mself what are the barriers which make people so far and isolated from eachother by feelings?
Maybe I want to know them better so that I can know my own self ,or understand their stories to discover my own.I don't know!But the only thing that I can be sure of is that these questions never leave me alone,always follow me and yeild at me to try to find an answer for them:
I went to the woods because I wished to live delibertely.
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.
To put to rout all that was not life
And not,when I came to die,discpver that I had not lived.
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