Sometimes I wonder why I feel so out of place.

Around me, conversations revolve around careers, ethics, success, opinions, and everything that people believe should define a meaningful life.

And then there is me.

Thinking about love.

Wondering why people hurt one another.

Trying to understand what it means to truly live.

People speak about right and wrong as though life can always be divided so neatly. But I find myself longing for a world where compassion comes before judgment, where people are allowed to exist without constantly being measured against someone else’s definition of what is right.

Perhaps that is why I often feel left out.

Not because I don’t belong.

But because my questions have always been different.