Maybe someday I will try.
Maybe someday I will die.
And sometime, someday, I will end up knowing why.
Why people kill their only child, with no remorse, no second glance, Why people live a life alone without making sound and why small children can’t be loved but can be loved but chose to not. And someday I’ll know why unspeakable terrors happen to wonderful people, and the people who seem least deserving seem to get away with the farm and the mule. Someday I’ll know why young men go out and kill themselves with dynamite and plastic explosives just so they can get away from school and parents and they can be with “their God”, who obviously wants them to destroy precious life. One day, when I am older, wiser, I will know the truth.
Maybe someday, I can be.
Maybe someday, I will see,
That life can never redeem itself.
That life is a goose hunt and a grail quest, the greatest and worst thing a mortal can perceive, can feel, can understand. That time is an illusion set out to warp and change without giving thought or reason to the things that it has changed. And that love is beautiful and convoluted, and never the same more than once.
But until then all I can do is cry.
And wonder. Wonder, and try.
Are you as confused as I am? Does anyone notice that the things we think we know the best we perceive the least, and that only the people looking for truth can be deceived, and that friendship changes in the tides? What is the purpose?
WHY?
Peace,
Beebes