From the start, we learn deflection — never the weight of what we choose. Our teachers praise good intentions, but not the harm we let slip through. We finger-point with painted nails, then cower when one breaks. The mirror shows a thousand saints afraid of their own mistakes. We chase each other down halls, yell obscenities, then fall. But it’s only when it’s captured on film that we begin to believe. And even then, we twist the frame, rewrite the pain for show. The truth becomes a memory we edit as we go. As much as I try to see the world, I’m not sure I ever can. So I judge in the name of my God, never knowing truth or detail. I live in my own perspective, and I judge you for yours — one I’ll never understand. I see the flame — it dances proud. I see the smoke — it cries aloud. I see the ice — it hides the pain. And I can’t tell what’s lost, or what remains. What happens when flame meets ice — will we understand together? Or will it melt into nothingness, reborn but not yet tethered? Not yet moldable, structural, strong — just a colorful vapor drifting through. We reach with open, trembling hands, for something we can’t hold — but wish we knew.
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