The fate of Karr...

If I imagine myself at the finish line, it seems almost unfathomable I'll ever be able to finish. It just feels like it was something I reached for without truly understanding my limitations. A dream I had without realising what it means to actually live it. So now I am left with a choice. Brute-force my way to some sort of conclusion, or walk away from something that was never really mine in the first place. Or maybe I'm being too hard on myself again? Maybe the only rule is that I don't remain still. That I start with the first page, and then maybe tomorrow, try to finish the second one. And then maybe the third. And then maybe I end up somewhere I can't imagine. Maybe.

If you've got a flag, plant it in the ground...

The more I kick and scream, bite, scratch and try to run away, the darker the skies seem to get. It is now very clearly evident, that I cannot run away from my pain and I cannot outrun the storm. The rain keeps falling, the skies keep trembling, and I am caught in the thick of it. But as it turns out, the water does not scare me anymore. I have learnt to swim. Against the current, with the current, without the current. I am still here, and I am in no rush to go anywhere. So stay awhile, and listen; how the boy became a man, and if luck remained on his side, how the man will become an elder. Quite the story, actually. 

Put in love, put in hours...

He is like that spark of fire, that fell on a leaf and burnt the whole tree down gradually. Look at him now, all you can see is the memories and reflections of a tree that stood tall and strong once before. But he will not let you win. He will show you, how life can rise again from just ashes and dust.

The rain began to fall harder, and it distracted me. I tried to pull myself back, because I felt on the verge of understanding something large and important. It seemed to me that this moment, the light and wind, the sweep of fields, the falling of the sky, captured a sort of life that I have longed for, a life of order and harsh beauty. It seemed instead to be the thing for which I must daily give up my life, an act of submission to something I could not name and only rarely, in moments such as these, have a sense of. Life during these moments seemed neither lost nor ruined but a power to be shared. And devoured.