I am but a gentle breeze in a raging storm. A tiny voice among deafening screams.
It seems to me that I have lived my entire life this way, always in the back of the crowd, fighting against currents of tough winds and cruel howls. It is frustrating at times, knowing that if only they were to listen… That then I could save them from themselves.
My brother’s treat me as their punching bag, only because I never fight back, only because I am but a weak fire that they can easily quench, only because they are empty inside, tough and cruel, but empty. I believe that a life of always trying to prove oneself is tiring, I’d rather remain a gentle breeze, gentle but firm. I’d rather remain a tiny voice, tiny but resolute. Oh, and I pray that someday… that someday I may find others like me.