Helping

once, ago, i was a helpful person.

i liked many things (and even got to experience some of them), but 
helping people - making people feel better - was what i truly enjoyed.

inside me, there's an acorn, and it still wants people to be happy.

but there's a fiery rage wrapped around it that decides who is not worth 
of happiness.  it's an arbitrary rage.  sometimes it likes people it once 
hated.  sometimes it decides that perhaps the best way to make someone 
who shouldn't be happy less happy is to help them, so they'll feel guilty.

at least the void is gone.  at least i no longer expect people to be 
sucked inside me, to give me something for anything i give them.  at 
least once more i can help someone because i want them to be happy.

and somehow, i get the feeling that no matter what i do, whoever i help, 
i still won't be 'good' - that i will never separate the pride from the 
purity.  and that perhaps the only reason i want to be good is that i 
hope one day there will be some reward for that, too.
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(o) =o= _A_ oI-- o-O-o O .n. P iO