I could begin to explain, but what's the point in that? I already have been stereotyped by you and that mind of yours.
You won't ever grow to like me. Or change your opinions, otherwise. You won't even try and understand me.
You won't let me answer your questions. Or clear your doubts. Or go through any of it, again.
In fact, you don't even have my side of the story.
Yet, you think the world of yourself, don't you? You think you have it all. And you think you have it all sorted.
But the fact is, you are just as much human as I am. And neither of us can ever be perfect.
If I am making a mistake, let me. Worst comes to worst, I will have learnt something from it. If you can't have my back, don't break it, either.
Everyday, I see a woman smile as I stir. And smile till I slumber.
Do I only deserve to have what I want? Can't I, for once, just please her?
At the end of it all, nothing will remain. You and I will be extinct, as shall everything else.
What will live, is the reason. The reason she smiled.
And that day, I will know I have done it all right.
For my mother.