Suspicious.

This must be it,the word.

they could only use to describe this world.

Suspicion,

they felt,

as they let themselves to feel,

more than ever,

but never.

And they sigh,

but then they stop.

And instead of being suspicious,they

start to look at people doing _a sin,_

_and they say:_

_What a suspicious thing to do._

__

And things come again and again,over again,as a time loop.

And yet,nothing seems diferite.

Things are still suspect.

They still feel a suspicious inside them.

Suspicion.

The feeling is still here.

Even if it was never there.