Mood: Somewhere in between
Song: No Song
It's already February and it's been months since he decided to lower his defenses to a point where a tag-written scum should be labelled big, hard and bright enough like a beacon. Tested, studied to an extent where a new-found species of bigot should be cataloged. He's not sure to call it a social experiment, a personal test or just to prove something that he doesn't even have a slightest idea of what it is all about.
Like others, he doesn't even care. Not anymore.
Like a wanderer who keeps wandering for eternity looking for a purpose, he keeps on walking. Let everything passes as some others struggled to hold something they knew they can't keep. He knew they will read, so he let them read the entry without any hesitation like an open invitation to another side of the sinkhole. Which obviously people will avoid sinkholes or a gaping manhole without cover, and that's common sense.
Open invitation for people who would actually be replying with open arms (literally, which I have no idea what does he mean with that).
He told me, in a wondrous tone, "They left me wondering of a fact. This fact, like a sort of unwritten law, where nowadays one must seek the knowledge themselves."
I gave him a nod, and he continued, "And when one asked, most of them will reply with a sort of sarcastic tone, like 'Think of it yourself.', or, 'Why don't you find out yourself?'. I find that nowadays one must bite another in order to survive, rather than helping out each other which is considered lame and incompetent."
We paused for a moment after he finished his words with a sigh. I didn't dare to continue so I bid him farewell and in hope of meeting him again, if God's willing. But before I walked away, never turned back he told me this,
"Never mind any bullets they wound you with. Just keep forgiving. He's watching."