I am weary.
My hands ache from the frigid touch of the winter winds, and my boots have worn thin from my unwanted travels.
I did not choose to set out on this path.
Nor do I, in any significant way, choose to continue it.
It is a strange beast, this path, unknowable and yet so awfully, awfully known.
I remember every jagged rock, every ditch in the drought-ravaged soil.
And when I tell myself that I know this path, it shows me that I do not.
My pack is heavy.
......
I am weary.
My hands ache from the frigid touch of the winter winds, and my boots have worn thin from my unwanted travels.
I did not choose to set out on this path.
Nor do I, in any significant way, choose to continue it.
It is a strange beast, this path, unknowable and yet so awfully, awfully known.
I remember every jagged rock, every ditch in the drought-ravaged soil.
And when I tell myself that I know this path, it shows me that I do not.
My pack is heavy.
......