We are stronger than we think we are

The stench of piss and feces hangs low in the air. A scrawny boy, bones protruding from his back, crawls up and down the filthy floor, scrubbing it’s surface with a determination that can only be survival.

As he looks up, his gaze meets mine. Dark eyes, as black as night, loom from hollow socket’s, telling a different story; one of desperation, sorrow and pain. Handing him what remains of our breakfast, I am overwhelmed with the harsh reality that has just stared deep within my soul.

I stare blankly through the bars of the train window, trying to comprehend what to think or feel. I feel ashamed, incomprehensibly consumed by guilt. A guilt that whispers nasty tales, ones that I should not continue to torture myself with.

Another voice enters my mind. “You deserve this, it is your responsibility to know. You cannot hide. Are you a coward?”  The voice hisses at me, it’s harsh words echoing inside my head. I have everything, but I still cannot help the millions who live without. What kind of person does that make me? 

Sadness fills my heart as I think to all the times I have felt hard done by, to the occasions where I have wanted more. I didn’t know and I still don’t, but at least now I see a little.

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