I have always wanted to know why I am or why I was so that someday I will know for certain why I will. It is not easy to probe into one's self, especially when I really do not know where or how to begin.
I started with my oldest memory . . . only a fragment of what I thought I remembered. I hope I am in the right path. Then , I felt a need to talk about my father, who I never knew nor remember. That felt good to let out a need or lack of an essential part of yourself.
And of course, there was my mother. I will never tire talking to and about my mother - regardless that she has passed away, what 20 years ago?By the way, I was raised a Catholic and it is natural for me to whisper to my mother even now, regardless, that she is now in a better place - to let out soft, little cries for help and redemption, letting her know how I agonize over the angst that living can give one who is not fully prepared for life's many turns amd bends. I guess, I am one who has always been sheltered and insulated for too long.
But how much can one talk in whispers? How much can one cry in the dark and alone? How much can the dead hear or the shadows take?





Analyze Me
Design by