Bitter

Sometimes I get bitter. Angry. At myself. For my past decisions. For all things I did and have yet to do. The blind mistakes that hurt people. The loves I lost for not loving enough or loving too much.

After a while, you begin to doubt yourself. You become afraid of doing anything because you can't see beyond your actions; the unintended consequences branch out of control.

It's an illusion, you know. Control isn't possible. We have such power, but not the wisdom or the foresight to use it safely.

Eventually you end up motionless. Paralysed by the unknown. You can plan. You can scheme. You can hope. But ultimately you cannot know what comes next. Only the fools rush in. Or those blinded by their desires. And you no longer have the comfort of blindness.

That old saying. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." It carries more wisdom than we want to acknowledge.

So we sit, powerless. Perhaps complaining. Perhaps in ignorance. Perhaps in sorrow, but we sit. Trying to see our way clear of the morass of bitter knowledge.

Don't you ever wish you didn't know what you do? Do you ever long for those blissful days where you strode through your life as if you owned it? When doom seemed so unlikely that it never ended into your mind? When it seemed like the sun would forever shine on your innocent heart?

I do. God, how I do.