I'm not blaming the world anymore.It's a cloth I've outgrown and a song I've sung one too many times.I'm now old enough to know the difference between war and a quarrel.
Even so,there are things beyond my control: I cannot command death,nature's grasp escapes me,day follows night in a perpetual motion.But I can control what I wish to become after their hurricane has long been silenced: a shape or a shadow.The first suits me better.For time spent longing after things that should have happened is time lost mourning unborn realities.More so,the hours of ceaseless rage against all things that not converge with the word "I",in a feeble attempt to restore one's innocence to one's self,are hours we give away to an hourglass's tomb.
I am the world and the world exists between the walls of my being.Judging it would mean questioning reality itself.Now,as perfection is merely a desire,I cannot commit to loving a thorn as I do a rose.But compromise beats hatred.So,rather than an executioner,I will aim to become a priest of no religion.
Pictures fade.Words are forgotten.Names disappear.Events lose their strength along the way.The only balm for a withering body is a wholesome mind.But I do not wish to find wisdom after the first wrinkle.Why not start with an old mind in a young body and not the other way around?
I am not the smartest.Can I not acknowledge intelligence in others with an open heart?I am not the prettiest.Can I not admire beauty honestly in another's shape?I am not complete.Can I not bow down in front of those who have already won a battle and ended a journey?Love is easier to mistake for compassion when you diminish the truth in your favor.
I'm not blaming the world anymore.I am change.I am feeling.I am strong.