you think you know hardship. you, with your blonde hair and your pale blue eyes that pierce into the soul of everyone that surrounds you. you, with your soft, unblemished skin, your peachy pink lips, and your low, caressing voice. you, with your mother and father who still begin each day with a gentle kiss, whose hands could never dream of raising against one another, nevermind bunching into a fist of unbridled rage. you, with your little sister who looks up to you, wants to spend all her time with you, adores you. you, with your older brother who, despite his teasing, would tear up the world for you, won't let anyone touch you, would never touch you himself. you, who spends each summer at her family's beach house, reading sylvia plath and kafka, the waves by your side, the sea breeze your faithful companion. you, immersing yourself in the suffering of others to escape the monotony of your serene life. you think you know pain, but you don't. you long for the understanding that the sea holds. only the waters know what it means to be battered to and fro.