A short little spiel I started and might elaborate on… but I'm not sure so give me some feed-back.
The night is quiet and dark, moonless and harshly cold- I can see my breath on the air. I'm walking because I can't sit, can't lie down, can't allow myself to focus or think on anything but the soft slap of shoes on pavement, gritting gravel beneath my feet. My hands are shoved deep in my pockets, my shoulders hunched upward toward the sky as if in open defiance- tears glistening in my eyes from the fierce wind. Struggling against a sudden shock of reflection I begin to run. I run pumping my clenched fists as if my whole being depends on it- as if my body is part of the howling wind, racing through the fir trees lining the dirt road I'm racing over. I run till my chest heaves and my air comes-out in short bursts, bending, gasping; hands to knees. And oxygen deprived thought finally finds me.
I have never questioned the situation of my life and the person it has made me. I have seen enough to know that we can't mold and shape ourselves with our own hopes and desires. My Mother died when I was a kid and it has made my life. Not changed it, ruined it- but made it. I wouldn't be, if it hadn't happened. It's nights like this I wonder who I would be if she hadn't died. Not Dean Winchester; the cocky, self-assured, kickin' ass and getting' numbers guy- who appears to the world heartless, brainless; a hollow casing of who a man should be. Maybe I would be more like Sam. That's a comforting thought.
Someone said something today that scared me. An old woman, walking out of the hotel office as I stepped-up to check-in, stared at me and said quite pointedly; "Have Faith." The statement was given no pretext and required no response. I turned quickly after her open-mouthed and remained deep in unconscious thought for nearly minutes as the hotel manager impatiently waited. What had possessed her to speak? Why had she chosen me to bestow these two loaded words upon? These are questions that could send me into another lung-desiccating sprint.
Faith hasn't taught me how to live life. Faith has taught me how to lose. It has taught me the loss of nurture and normalcy, the loss of familial comfort, sidewalk-scraped knees, tree-fort wars, and pain-free naivety. Lately Faith has taught me raw repression, a kind of mind-numbing submission and a fierce fiery aggression that consumes my being and taints my façade with hollow wise-cracks. But I don't regret my life. I regret his.