His excitement for life almost fades away. The sensitivity of his soul is eroded. He can hardly find his true self
His spirit is extraordinary. No grumble seen on his face. He lives the days cheerfully. Like there’s no burden, even though there is a burden, a heavy one.
Like rubbing salt into the wounds. Life is unpredictable. Who could have guessed? It was there before, now it’s gone. From adequate to jaded. What one can do? Nothing, he can do nothing about it. The steps are too heavy to take, even only to move any closer.
Who isn’t helpless when their legs, the body support, are broken? Who denied that stumbling steps from imperfect legs led to life with no direction?