The stones in our hands.

The stones in our hands

At very edge of the night we stare at the moon wondering what all the pain in our past was for. Rekindled like a flame that sets way to a never ending inferno we begin to burn with a passion. It’s a passion of misunderstanding, a passion of understanding, and a passion of wanting more. See, i’ve been there before burning amongst the flames and although at the time I was a stranger to understanding it entirely I still felt like I knew.

Why do we love our tragic memories so much? We know it’s best to forget, to move on. To cast the stone toward water but not make it skip through to other side but make it drown. That’s what we should do but we don’t. We hold the stones in our hands even though it is weighing us down rendering us incapable of any sudden movements. We haven’t thrown a single stone because we’ve been holding on for too long.

See, i’ve been there before too holding on to every stone of my burdens. Holding on till my bones ached till I couldn’t stand till it all brought me down to the ground overflowing. I’ve been there before but I made a promise to myself to never be there again. Promise me, promise yourself that you won’t carry your burdens to the other side but that you’ll cast every last stone into the water. Smile at the flames as they burn to an ember, smile at the stones as they drown never to surface again then like your final step before paradise, walk away.

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