Helena looks out of her cot into the slits of sunlight.
Iluminating the updraft of millions of tiny specs of dust.
Like a waterfall falling upward in an empty room.
She was born with a disease, am I not a dispicable human for not saving her?
Lucas is on the floor, he is making noises with his mouth.
Words don't come yet, he was born slow.
He moves the tiny horse a long the tile, no smile, no focus.
He still needs love as she does, what kind of monster am I to not accept them?
God bless these children for I am not noble enough to take them.
And the world has no empathy for them.
I have no soul, I am the same mess of a human being.
In love with acquiring, in love with my routine and fantasies.
Not willing to give anything up.
I am part of the selfishness.
I am the narcissist and the self worshipping illusion obsessed.
I am a silly man with a wounded child in his heart.
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