half past nomad

I’ve heard that after the first few miles, long distance runners stop feeling much and simply get off on their natural adrenaline high. After the first few miles.

I spent almost two hours talking. Not talking. Listening. Standing still as bullets whizzed by, holes in my long coat, scratches here and there, deep wounds left elsewhere where they entered flesh and exited from points elsewhere.
I could actually hear shots being fired, the gunman unaware of the rounds that existed, the target brutally conscious of the destruction debris created as they flew by.
Be a rock. Bounce them off.
Be a gel. Let them pass through.
Be the monk. Dance around the bullets.
Better yet, best yet, be a muslim. And submit to His protection.
And accept submission.

Closure: the last chapter to a story, the conclusion to an event. That last piece of the puzzle that finally lets you make sense of the entire picture.
Rhapsody.
Thirst Quenching.
Enlightenment.
Comprehension.

At what cost though?
Here’s my question. What is the highest price you’re willing to pay for anything? Or rather, at what price, is it too high a bid for you?
I set mine at His Displeasure.

Last night, I listened for almost two hours. I didn’t dodge anything nor did I evade any blades. I wasn’t perfect, I did mess up a few things perhaps. But God, I tried to be good. I gave all I could, no less no more. I literally gave all I could. I cannot buy you happiness, I cannot buy you answers that I don’t have and I most definitely cannot give you the closure you specifically seek.

Because I cannot afford that price m’dear, despite all my riches.

ps: i’m no monk. and as it turns out, i’m not bulletproof either.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 19th, 2003 at 11:40 pm and is filed under General Lee.