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Summary

The article reflects on the human capacity for suffering and causing pain, often masked by excuses and a lack of genuine connection or empathy.

Abstract

The text delves into the paradoxical nature of human relationships, where individuals excel at inflicting pain without remorse, yet crave love and connection. It highlights the fleeting nature of interactions, where people appear and disappear from each other's lives, much like changing sheets. The narrative touches on the prevalence of excuses used to avoid confronting emotional pain or forming meaningful relationships. It suggests a societal norm of superficial interactions, devoid of sincere greetings, gratitude, or forgiveness, which only serves to deepen the collective suffering. The author implies that people are like waiters serving pain instead of nourishment, consuming each other's souls in the process. The article concludes with a personal appeal from the author, inviting readers to support Medium writers, including themselves, by subscribing to the platform.

Opinions

  • The author believes that people are adept at causing each other pain without feeling regret or remorse.
  • Excuses such as "I don't have time," "Not today," "Not now," and "Maybe another time" are seen as barriers to genuine human connection.
  • There is a sense of disillusionment with the lack of authentic communication, with people often neglecting to express basic kindness or seek forgiveness.
  • The author perceives a metaphorical comparison between people and waiters, where pain is served instead of care or love.
  • The text suggests that people are carrying around fragments of damaged souls, indicative of the emotional toll of their interactions.
  • A call to action is presented to the reader, encouraging them to support writers on Medium by subscribing, which implies the author's belief in the value of written expression and storytelling.

People are Best at Suffering

Photo by Adrian Swancar on Unsplash

People are best at suffering. They cause each other pain without any regrets, no remorse, and no regrets. They disappear, then they appear. Change loves like sheets.

Too many excuses:

I don’t have time.

Not today.

Not now.

Maybe another time.

I smile falsely and pretend they weren’t in the morning when the escape was in warm arms. They lie to themselves and where it was, they turned into nothing. He wonders why they don’t have people with them who offer at least an ounce of love. Let them wait. Mint.

Forget a simple "Hello, how are you?" Less good words. Less "Thank you." Less "Forgive me." It compensates for the pain, with passers-by through life, through the bed. And on the retina of the eyes, I carry fragments of poisoned souls. We are like waiters offering pain on the tray. We are good at devouring souls.

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