I am a burdened soul. I wish to thrive wholly free but I cannot, for there will always be someone in this world who wishes to enslave me with
the tightest of chains. There will always be someone who believes that they are
entitled to a part of me. Even in my most liberal moments I must realize that
even my happiness is caused by something or someone else and in that I am never
free. It seems that my existence is for them and not truly for me. So that
begs the question … am I happy? If happiness is sitting in a small room, alone
with a heavy heart, then yes I am happy … and if I’m truly this happy, then
I’ll never be free.
When I look into a mirror, the face that stares back at me scares
me. It’s not the face of a man who has enjoyed the years pass by but the face
of a man who has aged beyond his years and like an intricate drawing, the
sadness is etched in his eyes. The tears stay locked away, for my mother once
said, “A man does not cry.” In silence I weep, struggling to be a someone for
everyone. ..And in trying to be that perfect son, perfect friend, perfect
person … I’ve become this imperfect man.
- Unknown
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