There are times when I think of myself as a plant sad, dark, bare branches
; There are times when I think of myself as a vigorous plant, capable of surviving weather, take root and grow on a rock, however, and in spite of everything.
There are days when I seem the last of misanthropes, closed in my silence and solitude, and others where I think I'm a sociable person, friendly, open.
I sometimes think of me as a deteriorated and fragile body, sometimes I think even the rock I'm clinging could destroy me.
Sometimes I think my world dark and full of monsters. Other times they are innocent and optimistic as a Samaritan. Sometimes I
and sin are neighbors. Other times people mistake me for a catechist and find it hard to believe that I have no god to which darning socks.
Sometimes I keep all my secret thoughts and kept in a box called a diary, and sometimes dream of telling my story to the world, as now for example.
0 comments:
Post a Comment