Fight back tears, we joyous human beings have to do.

With life being as unknown as it is, it puzzles me that we know so much about pain without knowing really anything at all.
Make sense yet?
Well, pain really doesn’t.
But it hurts.

So why do we have to experience pain?

It’s an interesting and frustrating concept.
When you think of how many people are on the Earth, and how many of them could be facing their own personal pain, what do we do?
People face their own personal pain in many forms.
Crime, the loss of a family member, disease, love.
All of those hurt.

Pain is an evil temptress.
Because she comes in all different shapes and different sizes.
She comes in different capes with different disguises.
And she affects everyone in one way or the other.
And it hurts.

Pain is hard to swallow.
And that’s because sometimes, pain is the dagger,
The dagger that is too busy being plunged into your heart for you to swallow it.
And that hurts.

Pain is something we think we can overcome.
Because, if we’ve already had so much in our lives, why would we need more?
Why can’t we just have our sunny day?
Our clean bill of health?
Our relationship we try so hard for?
Pain is something we curse because even through the constant struggle of pain, we can’t seem to find happiness.
We can’t seem to win.
And that hurts.

But we spend so much of our days imagining winning.
We enjoy the splendor of happiness, the warmth of joy.
We can see ourselves playing in the field of dreams.
We are past our struggles.

But then pain rears its ugly head.
It reminds us of our imaginations.
It reminds us that we are still immersed far within her grasp.
Pains reminds us of one thing:

Some people are just not meant to win the big one.

And that’s what hurts the most.

This life that I live is hard.
Gets harder and harder each day.
But it's the only life I got.
Will it get better?, I can't say.

The pain that I suffer through is silent.
You can't hear me scream.
My life is a scary nightmare.
It doesn't even recognize the word "dream."

I cringe every day.
I tense up like a statue.
I pray to God for one thing.
And that one thing is truth.

I've been given an open letter.
Telling me to run free.
And after reading that letter.
I question if running is for me.

Freedom is all I think about.
From early in the morning to late at night.
I can't get it off of my mind.
It's such a beautiful sight.

But I scare myself sick.
I worry too much.
I worry that I won't ever get away.
I worry that freedom, I'll never clutch.

And that brings me back to the life I live.
The one that gets harder and harder each day.
It sadly is the only one I got.
Will it get better?

I can't say.

We all stood outside as the building burned away.

Everyone was watching the flames shoot toward the heavens like rockets.

Everyone was watching the bricks crack into pieces, the metal starting to melt, and the windows starting to shatter.

Everyone was watching the building turn to ash.

And I was just watching everyone.

And thinking, "Man, out of all these people, I don't know anyone."

It can get lonely in this world.

Especially when everyone around you is watching a building burn away.

All the while you're burning away on the inside.

The listening stopped a while ago.
It’s like the monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just didn’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
You used to deliver information to my being like you were the great Giving Tree.
And I was a nearby flower.
A delicate, nearby flower.
A flower that went about its normal routines, such as photosynthesis or pollination or other flower things.
Ah, those flower things.
To me they are everything.
This flower would blossom in the spring and wither in the winter.
I would spend my flower days in the summer breathing in the glowing sunlight and living my flower life.
And in the fall, I would spend my flower nights rocking in the breeze, waiting for winter to come and bring me my renewal period.
I would look with my flower eyes toward you, the great Giving Tree.
Tall and ***** like the unstoppable force.
And I, there on the ground, the immovable object.
Your knowledge was so delightful at first.
It lit up my surrounding flower world more than the Sun ever could.
Your knowledge would come at all hours of the day, no matter rain or shine.
I remember once a long time ago when I was a little, tiny flower.
It was raining on my little tiny flower head.
But you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The rain that would beat pitter-patter on my pedals.
The water that would run down my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak up the water my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
And then there was the time when I was an older, bigger flower.
The Sun was shining on my older, bigger flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The sunlight that shine zig-zag on my pedals.
The shadow that would cast from my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak in the sunlight my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
But now I am a current, normal flower.
The world is passing by my current, normal flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
You with your knowledge….
Said nothing to me, your son.
I didn’t know what to take in.
So I did just what you didn’t say.
And I just kept watching the world float by you, great Giving Tree.
You, the unstoppable force.
And I just kept watching the world float by me, the delicate flower.
Me, the immovable object.
And for the rest of our days you said nothing to me.
You don’t pass your knowledge to me, your delicate flower son.
Your immovable object.
And I stop listening to you, my great Giving Tree.
My unstoppable force.
The monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just don’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears anymore.
The relationship we had has faded away.
But I had a feeling neither of us would win when we first met.

“Because you know what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”

After intense summer heat,
Comes delicate autumn breeze.
A withering winter follows,
And in turn is followed itself by a blossoming spring.
There is no in between.
No time for reconstruction.
That summer heat, cools.
That autumn breeze, freezes.
That withering winter, subsides.
That blossoming spring, burns out.
When is the period of review?

The World has to have time to stand back and marvel at its own beauty.
Or maybe its own destruction.

Depends on how you want to start the cycle again.

“He hit me while I was down.”

Well, maybe you should get back up.

“But what if he hits me when I’m up?”

Well then, maybe you should pay attention more.

“But I didn’t do anything to him!”

Ah, you finally understand how the world works my friend.

It was all a dream that I knew was a dream but I didn’t want to admit it as a dream.
And my dream, oh my dream, was a dream come true.
It was a dream depicting me spending my time with you.
This dream I was dreaming was only a mere dream.
I knew this dream wasn’t real.
But what was real in my dream was that our time together was standing still.
You were there in my dream, clear as day.
A dream angel in the flesh.
I was staring right at you, dream dumbfounded at best.
Unfortunately, I knew what this dream of mine entailed.
This dream scene behind my closed eyes is not what it seems.
But I will see you again, my beautiful mother, in my dream that is all but a dream.