You asked me to be in your world and I am. You wanted me to care for you and I did.
Where does that leave me, when the tough work begins? When you say no, you cannot contain your anger? Change is not an option? Why do you go there? Can you subside and consider the origin of it? Can you even see me in this picture where you have deliberately coloured outside the lines. The ink is not ink, it’s only a pencil line drawn next to you.
Life is a wager, a set of weighted checks that turns into unweighted balance, if you want it to be. Is it really your world or a world in which many are involved. Sometimes the weight is on your shoulders some days on mine.
If I had asked you to be in my world, would you have? Maybe you would have run away. Mine is not decisive, nor deceiving. It is a world of unknown origins. Times not timely, or organized in columns of do and don’t. It’s a place of being, of consideration to another’s point of view not readily taken.
It’s a scarey place for someone like you. It has no boundaries, nor options. We are free to move about as one chooses and then can choose again.
I don’t blame you. I don’t fear you or your anger. How can I. You are a stranger in this strange land of compromise and compassionate outcomes. Your walls are not meant to be of cement but of paper to colour and then recycle. Maybe tearing them down to replace them with clear paper, making a view that does not obstruct a vision of clarity. Your colour pallet could change, from dark to light and you would learn to draw your world freely as it is penciled in.
Your world how divinely said. If Gods would only say the same. Take the will out of the freedom we take so elequintly.
I did try and I am still trying. There is no force to be reckoned with only me and my human being which stands beside you when you want me to.
I can get an eraser and give it to you? I am only penciled in.