You ask me about my trip around the world.
You ask me how it was? You state that I must have met some pretty amazing people and seen some remarkable things.
You've been on the road for so long you exclaim, of course you must have changed!
Please tell me about your adventure you say.
Tell me, tell me, tell me your story.
And so I ask, what do you want to know? Well you reply;
"What was your favourite country?"
I breathe. Mentally search my memory and try to pick out a story that I think will satisfy you.
Yet, as I search your eyes in a brief but desperate panic for the answer that will most satisfy you, I realise the process is a lost cause and exhale to regurgitate whatever comes to mind.
Maybe its the taj maha in India, riding in a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, climbing the great wall of china, jumping off the Macau tower, or the sacrifice I witnessed everyday by originally people like you and me. Of course you wanna hear about all the beautiful things the world has to offer and turn your head to the sacrifice. To the suffering. To the pain.
You take another sip of your beer, check your iphone and change the subject.
I bite my lip and fight back the anger rising in my heart but my mind screams; why! Why do you ask me about my trip and the world if you don't wanna know how it truly is? If you don't wanna know the truth. Why! Why do you even ask?
You continue to talk to me while checking your facebook, listening to the ending of my story and attempting to appear interested yet, in my heart I know the truth. I know you wish I would stop talking about sad stories and move on to things that make you laugh. Things that make YOU happy.
With all my might I try to move on to a more cheerful topic but I can feel my legs shaking under the table. My hands quickly settle on top of my thighs in an attempt to calm them but the shake goes straight to my heart and a single ear forms in the corner of my eye. I bite the inside of my lip, until I taste blood, and try to fight back the dam of tears which are on the break of overflowing.
The topic quickly gets changed to sporting events, food, or boozing adventures and the conversation flows onwards. I quietly stand up and remove myself from the table with the excuse to pee but really it's an excuse to pull myself away from the cloudiness of tears slowly overflowing my eyes.
With my bare ass on the toilet, I finally allow the dam to break and the pain flood my heart. My tears fall on the bathroom floor, like snowflakes from heaven, soft, gently and quietly barely touching the earth. Regardless they fall and it's in these moments where I stop shaking and realise I've seen too much of the world.
I've seen too much of the world not to care anymore.
You ask me how it was? You state that I must have met some pretty amazing people and seen some remarkable things.
You've been on the road for so long you exclaim, of course you must have changed!
Please tell me about your adventure you say.
Tell me, tell me, tell me your story.
And so I ask, what do you want to know? Well you reply;
"What was your favourite country?"
I breathe. Mentally search my memory and try to pick out a story that I think will satisfy you.
Yet, as I search your eyes in a brief but desperate panic for the answer that will most satisfy you, I realise the process is a lost cause and exhale to regurgitate whatever comes to mind.
Maybe its the taj maha in India, riding in a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, climbing the great wall of china, jumping off the Macau tower, or the sacrifice I witnessed everyday by originally people like you and me. Of course you wanna hear about all the beautiful things the world has to offer and turn your head to the sacrifice. To the suffering. To the pain.
You take another sip of your beer, check your iphone and change the subject.
I bite my lip and fight back the anger rising in my heart but my mind screams; why! Why do you ask me about my trip and the world if you don't wanna know how it truly is? If you don't wanna know the truth. Why! Why do you even ask?
You continue to talk to me while checking your facebook, listening to the ending of my story and attempting to appear interested yet, in my heart I know the truth. I know you wish I would stop talking about sad stories and move on to things that make you laugh. Things that make YOU happy.
With all my might I try to move on to a more cheerful topic but I can feel my legs shaking under the table. My hands quickly settle on top of my thighs in an attempt to calm them but the shake goes straight to my heart and a single ear forms in the corner of my eye. I bite the inside of my lip, until I taste blood, and try to fight back the dam of tears which are on the break of overflowing.
The topic quickly gets changed to sporting events, food, or boozing adventures and the conversation flows onwards. I quietly stand up and remove myself from the table with the excuse to pee but really it's an excuse to pull myself away from the cloudiness of tears slowly overflowing my eyes.
With my bare ass on the toilet, I finally allow the dam to break and the pain flood my heart. My tears fall on the bathroom floor, like snowflakes from heaven, soft, gently and quietly barely touching the earth. Regardless they fall and it's in these moments where I stop shaking and realise I've seen too much of the world.
I've seen too much of the world not to care anymore.
