i dont do sappy. i dont cry during movies. i cant. i have tried. [you know, in an attempt to be a better, more appropriate girl.] then i realized crying is overrated. i know plenty of people who cry and it doesnt solve anything. especially tears for imaginary characters.
but i did cry on saturday. i had a shortstory to write for my fiction class. my brother insisted that i read "the red convertible" first. so i awoke early and grabbed a cup of coffee. i cozied up with my warm mug, welcomed the fresh morning air through the porch door, wrapped myself in blankets, and cried.
have you read the story? i dont want to ruin it for you- but please, read it. its about the relationship between to brothers that, once amazingly beautiful, was irreparably jarred by war.
no one should have to go through that. no one should be forced to watch his world turn upside down because of circumstances way beyond his control or understanding. its not fair. and so, my heart broke. for the boy. and for myself- because i have never experienced something so harsh and because i know its inevitable and because i fear it will break me. and for the people whose lives will change because i have broken.
you cant only be marty. when he walked back home from the river, marty became stephen.
i suppose i should forgive. is it ever our fault that we change? how can i blame him for it?
A song that I thought of after reading your post:
ReplyDeleteAge After Age
Words and music by Sandra McCracken c 2003 Same Old Dress Music (ASCAP) All rights reserved.
On the edge of the river, the mighty Mississippi
Two boys spent their summers on the banks of the levy
When the waters burst and broke the dam
they were swallowed in a wave of sand
they pulled the younger one out by the hand—
(from) standing on his brother’s shoulders.
One nation under God, young and proud she stumbled
With a trail of tears left by those who were outnumbered
She said, “This land is your land, this land is mine, unless you are an Indian”
But a higher ground we have tried to find—
standing on their shoulders.
Age after age
of heroes and soldiers
it gives me sight and makes me brave,
standing on their shoulders
One man in the shadow of the white-washed cathedrals
Weighed down by the system through the eye of the needle
To his conscience bound he would not recant for the freedom of the Saints
And truth is truth is truth
and we are standing on his shoulders
(chorus)
To the ones left behind who are picking up the pieces
of planes, bombs, and buildings of innocence and evil
‘Cause when the news and noise and flowers die,
and you still wake up alone
There is a God who knows every tear you cry
and this world is on his shoulders
Age after age
of all the heroes and the soldiers
So why am I so slow to change
when I am standing on their shoulders?
Age after age
of (all the) heroes and soldiers
God, give me sight and make me brave…
as I am standing on their shoulders.