Gift

More and more encased in your shell, you see light seeping in through the cracks. How blessed, how wonderful these cracks are.

The thin, yet very bright light stings your eyes like the naked truth, and unfortunately, you don't really feel like you're in a good mood today because of it.

You're walking down the street in W – ska with your Walkman in your ears, because the music is supposed to gently fill the void between you and other people who (as it happens) don't miss YOUR PERSONALITY. Oh, and it's a wet December evening. Rain is drizzling.

On the other side, the headlights—like the eyes of oncoming cars—try to befriend you for a moment. They glance mischievously. Then they pass, and only an echo remains, the form of another star lit in the sky.

You walk, slowly past the church, the points: Caritas, Peceka, and you don't notice, you don't think, so you have to go back. Once again. From the beginning; Church, Charity, the Peceka

– So what, you still think you don't need help?...

You stop next to a car parked on the sidewalk. Love begins to rain down on its roof. And the light from the streetlamp is its short story, a short story of love. You wonder what you could give to this little child, just born, as you pass it, walking quietly along the sidewalk of your mind. You think it might want a big red lollipop. Or you might just as well think it might want EVERYTHING. Exactly as much as you yourself would like to have right now, but you're only the hundredth, hundred thousandth, millionth one after the decimal point!

(...)

I once, sweating, jumped over the fence separating life from the detention center. I don't know how I got there, but I instinctively needed to break free. When I got to the other side, completely drenched in wine inside and blood outside, and when consciousness finally sparked in my head, I found myself standing in exactly the same place. The one you chose for your rest today.

"Oh fuck, has so much changed since then?"

(…)

Lurking beneath the window of a bright tenement building, with a grocery store downstairs, from which people are emerging, you stand at a busy roundabout in the middle of town. You look at the sign. Cars are whirling around. This is where your route ends.

And though there's nothing left for you to do but wipe the tears from your eyes that aren't yours, and though today the earth attracts you more than any person you know, the rain now gently pours down answers. The rain gently seeps into your open mouth, the rain is a gentle God who has decided to erase your guilt.

And you, as life often does, have moved one place forward.