Douleur

I don't even like French that much but the Chinese word for pain is dumb and all of the old folktales and idiomatic roots I've heard from my culture are stupid and about respect and honor and they have nothing to do with real pain. So French will have to suffice. At least Les Mis captured the suffering in love and poverty and bread.

John Green has been profound a thousand times, but I just read the Fault in Our Stars again and it makes me extraordinarily sad and angry and appeased that someone has so eloquently penned the grievances of humanity.

"‘Pain is like fabric: The stronger it is, the more it’s worth.’ Is that true, Hazel?”
I wasn’t looking at him directly but at his reflection in the mirror. “No,” I shouted over the music. “That’s bullshit.” 
“But don’t you wish it were true!” he cried back.

If it is so unfortunately a load of bull, then I hate the world. I hate the world for making everything okay because okay, in John Green's words exactly, implies forever, and nothing is forever or for ethereal subjects' sake okay. The pain is so bad. It has never been so bad before.