Cruel. Sometimes life is just so fucking cruel.

It doesn’t knock. It breaks in. Uninvited and unrelenting. And when it does, you don’t get answers—you get echoes. You get silence where there should be reason. A twisted kind of theater where the worst things happen without cause and the best moments vanish before you realize they were good.

There are days I want to grab life by the throat, shove it against the wall, and scream:
“What the fuck are you doing, you sick bastard!”

Because what else is there to do when things fall apart, not dramatically, but quietly—in broken coffee mugs, unanswered texts, the slow detachment from someone you thought would stay?

Maybe that’s why life feels cruel.
Not because it wants to hurt us, but because we’ve hurt it.
Because somewhere along the way, we lost our gentleness.
We shouted when we should’ve listened.
We left when we should’ve leaned in.

And life—like any creature—retaliates. Not with vengeance, but with indifference.
Not with fury, but with silence.

Still, even in its cruelty, life pulses with possibility. Maybe shouting at it is our way of trying to wake it up.
Or maybe—just maybe—we’re trying to wake ourselves. 😔

©️ Beatriz Esmer