You went back from your wander as sleepy as the time you depart. The difference was; you started with questions. They are all now answered, even those questions which you didn't think they would be answered. Are you still denying your worth? I think I still am, or so I thought. What about you?
You saw tears you can never see. They didn't overflow their eyelids out of griefs; your eyelids too. Although none were dropping, they held different stories.
"His wishes were fulfilled and the beauty is that; every little things I did and decided were somehow fated by God to fulfill them. Not a speck of realization came across my mind until lately."
You didn't finish your coffee, you bit the last slice of pizza, and the tissue you bought that morning happened to be useful at night. The wallet that played hide and seek under pizza box, that one was funny.
"He ever said to me, when I die I don't to be a burden for my family and the reality eventually showed that all he said that time has no fault in it. He laid so peacefully."
"I have been thinking about gathering flowers for him and to clean the graves of him and his father. Now that you are here, could you do me the favor?"
At the porch, as you see the dark clouds above, you said, "I'm trying not to cry."
"Let it stream." said one of them.
You took your time both to hold the flow and to say some words. You failed one. I hope when you read this writing again in the future, you remember which one. Then you join the other one picking flowers. You didn't have time to put in on the bag so you hold it in you hand until you arrive to the graves.
You didn't say or recite anything, just stared at the place you've been visiting years ago, and put what's in your hand. The rain fell as if it told us to leave the sprucing part to it as we ran for shelter.
"I think I'm never be worthy." you said.
"Who is he? When he met my mother, he only had money enough for him to eat for one day, yet he said to her, 'I'll take your daughter with me and I'll assure you that I will fulfill all her livelihood. Who is he? Yet, today, he's the one who covered the expense for my doctorate."
The last hours, you looked again at the shirt you wore and thank the owner of it. . . not only for the shirt, of course. You went to the patio that somehow you can't remember, even though you are so sure you've been there once.
"Looks likes it feels so good growing up here." you said.
"I'm still thinking about the words you said today about not being worthy. Despite her shyness and you are being dodgy about it, what do you think my reason to introduce you to her if it's not for the fact that I know you are worthy?
Then somehow here I am now, caught by myself, writing this. Something is emerging from within, not a new thing, but a familiar feeling. The same feeling I felt years ago when I still write. Should I write again?
