Dear sheep living in a quiet village

I could swear I saw compassion in your eyes as you were munching the grass away and tilted your bells. It was almost dark and we looked at each other for a long time.

I was not supposed to be there. No one waited for me or wanted me.

I lost someone forever by coming to that village that day. Maybe my friend will forgive me, but I doubt it.  My friend feels horrified to the heart's core. What I am sure of is that I died. Before, I did not believe I was bad. I did not believe I blackmailed people instead of caring for them. I did not believe that I twisted their will instead of accepting their choices. I did not believe I was capable of malice when someone said no. I did not believe the first time my friend said that, nor the second time. Then I arrived in the village.

And you, dear stupid sheep, you did not turn away from me. You could have bleated, alarmed all the neighborhood, shook me up before it was too late. You just sat there, compassionately, watching me walk to my fate.