I don’t want to be the captain of a sinking ship
July 8, 2009
There are days in which I ask myself why is that priests transform their Bibles into rifles. Why is July as cold as December. Why was I taken to the hill and have been left alone.
There are nights in which I ponder the answers and still grasp none. Long sleepless and restless nights followed by mornings in which I regret losing precious sleeping hours and still reaching… nothing. And then I touch my skin, ask myself where do I stand, hold onto a feeling and open a book. Hoping for the answers to come.
Somehow, answers find a very stubborn way of wrapping themselves, leaving me alone in the cold long night. I sometimes think I’m obsessing over getting concrete answers when in fact life is made of zillions greys. It’s the least thing I should get: to know where I stand. Where I start and where I end. These limits are expressed in abilities I posses or not. I can’t undo the done.
There are mornings and evenings when I find myself walking astray from the path. Yet again, I always seem to find my way home.
