Strong

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I see all of the beauty the world could have...but I always remember that the world is a harsh place. In order to survive, you must be even colder.

This place; this horrific place called Earth. Where everyone is meant to live, just so they can die eighty years later. What is the point? The point of carrying on if I was just made to die. I have no meaning. I'm just another face in the crowd, the Sea of People.

Most people will say that I am "too young to understand"; that I don't know what real struggle is like. I'm positive that I know what It feels like, to be struggling. It may not be in the same way; I'm still trying to get by: just like you.

When I look down...Do you want to know what I see? I see mindless people following the path that was carved out for them. When I look down I see people taking "the easy way out". When I look down I see my own two feet hoping to take "the easy way out". When I look down I lose a part of myself. I lose myself as the wind whispers; it tells me to jump.

I still believe that there is a part of me that I have yet to discover. I still believe that there is still time left for me. I still, very much, believe that I am strong enough to get through this blinding thing called life. Though it may knock me down and take my breath. Though it may steal the light from my eyes. I will always get back up; for as long as I can walk. I will keep on going until the end.

When I look down I remember that I have you by my side.

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