In and out...I am breathing, still alive as people everywhere are dying slowly, quickly, just dying.
Lately I can't stop thinking about this. I'm a firm believer that things don't just happen for no reason at all.
There's a reason I'm still alive. There's a reason I can write. There's a reason I have so much.
The world is moaning, but I plug my ears.
I hum my own song while pretending I can't hear.
The backpack is heavy; I feel special carrying my books, my thoughts, all that I think matters.
I believe I'm a good person; I repeat it when I lie down at night.
But the world is moaning, and I plug my ears.
I don't want to live an empty life. I wanting to watch it dribble down the glass, foam over the top, maybe come rushing from inside. I want to be a hurricane and knock the wind out of the crippling paradigms of this broken world. I want my voice to echo down the sides of mountains, to bob up and down in frigid rivers, to embrace the humanity that has lost its way. I want my voice to become a choir, more than me, more than this. Where have these convictions come from? From Him, of course. Where else?
I've never boasted to be more than I am. I know I'm small, my words get muffled, I stutter, and the world has been deaf for a long time.
And yet I write. I know that no one is reading this except me. This is what I need. I'm not here to impress. I'm not here for a pat on the back.
I'm here to write because the world is moaning.
