The present?

What's the purpose of writing, if it cannot speak the whole truth? And what's the use of speaking the whole truth, when the ending never changes?

History? We study it only to find it drowning in darkness, heavy with injustice. The present? Even darker, far more merciless.

Why can't I write words strong enough to rescue me from the pain of my own life? And why must I go on fighting to save that life, even after surviving a genocide?