Will I ever find out my reason for being —
my reason for hearing,
breathing,
seeing?

Life to this point feels like a Groundhog Day car journey...
never reaching any destination.
Just living out the same day,
never giving in to temptation —

the temptation
to change my life for the better.

But I cannot do it.
My clothes feel wetter.
And with the wet,
comes the weight.

The soaked garments of life —
too heavy to lift
for this boy
anymore.

I want to get off this awful journey.
But I’ve been here so long...
I cannot commit fully.

Then one day —
on the Groundhog Day merry-go-round...
something’s different.
Perhaps...
even profound.

In the first turning of the wheel,
on the same old roads,
I gasp for breath.

New buildings.
No boards.
The boards that once sealed empty windows
now hold beautifully stained-glass dreams —
birds
and willows.

I want to keep on this road.
Just for now.
To see more changes,
and even more —
to find out how.

How do I keep this flicker of hope alive
on my journey?

I guess we keep going.
Valiantly.
Profoundly.
Without fear.

Fear of what?
Change
for the better?

Where do I sign?
I brought my OWN pen.

Thing is...
I’ve had this pen a long time.

Asked the same question,
“Where do I sign?”

But as the pen nears paper,
I start to shake —
like there’s a rumble underneath me,
ready to take...

The pen from my hand
and everything that comes
with my signature.

Come try and take it.
I’ll give it to ya.

But I’m not letting the rumble
shake the pen
from my grip.

I will fight —
valiantly.
I will not
lose
grip.

This time,
the ink spills on my terms.
Not scribbled in panic.
Not erased by fear.

I walk —
not run,
not hide,
but walk —
toward the noise.
Toward the tremble.

Each step
a sentence.
Each breath
a line.
This is the signature I was scared to write
for far too long.

With every rumble,
came a tighter grasp —
a more unwavered willingness
to let my old
stay in the past.

This pen and paper
will only show the words
I have chosen to write.

Some may think it’s wrong.
Some may say it’s right.

But I sign this paper
with my own
blood-filled pen
as ink.

A way to move forward —
a deeper way
to think.

I know
my ink will dry out eventually.

Not many signatures left to give...
and one piece of paper left.

This is it.
Forgive.