It’s dark. The lights are out.
I put my hands before my steps. Directing myself through the street.
I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t see.
I would have…
But I dropped my glasses. And stepped on them two miles back.
I’ve been walking for what seems centuries now. And it’s only getting harder and harder to see.
My ankles are bruised. My socks are wet.
Yet I continue walking in the rain…
I’ve heard stories from those who walked this path before…
They told me there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
I don’t know if I should believe them.
I don’t know if they’re telling the truth.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
If I don’t meet my maker, first.
Some days I wonder:
Why did I leave my comfortable, safe, and peaceful home in exchange for nights spent out in the rain?
I ask myself this question everyday.
Truth be told, I don’t know.
Maybe I was stupid for doing so because the world’s getting meaner by the day.
I brush past their shoulders, see the looks on their faces. And I don’t think they’ll change.
But I’ll do what my mom said and accept it without pain.
Then I’ll stick out my hands like my father once did and continue walking through the rain…
Even on the days…
I have doubt flowing through my veins.