We are all susceptible to damage. When all is done, and all is corroded, we come to the very familiar, least pleasing realization that life almost always does more injustice than good.
But there's probably all sorts of damage in this world, some deeper than just injuries on the very  surface. Some open wounds you cannot just blink and expect to disappear.
Granted, you will suffer the atrocity of being exposed to the sudden deterioration of a life you mistakenly thought to be yours, when it happens to look nothing like the life you wished for.
Does that make you ungrateful? Or simply suffering like everyone else and refusing to settle for the pain you are obligated to ignore in order to make it till the day death grips you for eternity and for good?
But here comes the long awaited what-if. What if  you get to experience the known to be terrifying death throughout what seems to be your entire life?
To save you the unnecessary bickering of my descending thoughts projected onto you through my writing, I will clarify.
We are all susceptible to damage, some of which might be eternal, but as humans, we are graced by the blissful and foolish ability to ignore, and moreover deny. However, it is only fair to declare that some are better than others when it comes to ignorance and denial. Some can only pretend for so long.
For a happy ending to occur, one's life must be sculptured in fairy-tale form, and narrated by a soul so blinded by illusions, irritating manifestations of false optimism, and hues of duplicated sun beams. For such entities, reality does cease to remain for long.
But as for realists, and survivors of constant ruin, we tend to see the so-called bright side of things for what it actually is: rare, and almost always intangible. We know happy endings do not have much space to exist in our lives. And in the most sufficient matter of things, we are aware of the presence of silver linings to some occurrences, but that tragedy can always find a way to stain that regardless.
And as for those who had given up on life, forcing hope down our throat would be fatal. We know we are flawed in every meaning that word could possibly hold. We still, however, get to witness days of flickering light, and dim gleams. Promise that we do our best to hold onto that, instead of looking away.

and though the light behind our eyes is faint, we dissever only to collide.
and only through yearning for hope no matter how distant, will the war persist to subside.
violent it is, to fight, but remain still.
defy, defy.
deluding are those who in the face of fear
not burst to flames, but disappear.