I remember how everyone here was devastated for punch-a baby monkey with some toy thingy..
The kids being orphaned in a genocide does not seem to move people the same way here.
The kindest thing literature does is remind you that your peculiar little feelings have always existed. Someone, in some century, was equally confused by love, bored by society, tired of performing, and hungry for meaning.
the pigeon doesn’t understand your disdain for it; it coos for you anyway. the tree does not know you own an axe for it; its leaves sway in the sun anyway. the starving cat eats the poison you put out. it doesn’t know how not to trust. the earth forgives you, in spite of yourself