...and there comes a day you cross paths with someone who has known suffer and pain and loss and sacrifice, to the core of their existence. Someone whose scars are deep enough so, you need to strap your safety gear, should you ever decide to rappel your way down their source and cause.
Someone who is in peace with their demons and regrets and yet, at the same time, allows them to come back and claim bits of their reality, in an ever accelerating roller coaster loop of emotions. Someone who finds the way to heal their wounds, just enough, to win another day.
And there is You. Slothing the streets of your so-called Kingdom, pulling a toy cart full of Whys and Hows and Whens, inside a camouflaged bubble of your own making, stubborn and too thick to recognize your reflection in the mirror on the wall.
Ever complaining for each and every Now, while glorifying your Before, you simply wander for no apparent reason, bitching and swearing like a whore. Making excuses for your lazy ass, knocking yourself down after "work", making no time for your loved ones, whether they are Here or they are gone.
Then, "Slap!" into your fucking face; reality always comes hard.
That "someone's story" knocks down your house of cards, and strips you off your every excuse. It serves as a reminder to count your fucking blessings because you never know what's to come.
And, simple as that, you get your lazy ass off the couch, get dressed and pay a visit to your long gone dad.
And, simple as that, you get your lazy ass off the couch, get dressed and pay a visit to your long gone dad.
A visit you pushed back for months cuz the suffering and the pain and the loss and the sacrifice, apparently, they were not deep enough.
You, prick of a son.
"T.S, the One from the Northern Island across the Land DownUnder", by Gr. Krezos
