The thief has been stalking me, matching my every step. He creates diversions and distractions, static within my soul. If just this... If only that... The thief delights in making me chase my survival when I already have it.
I run around like I am 20. I am not sure who I am trying to prove something to. By 24, I had more bruises and wisdom than most people in their whole lives. Just think of what I have now. Then think of all I have. Everything. It is a reason to smile when she walks into the room for the first time today.
I have always hated white noise. Perhaps I knew that someday, it would be permanent. I must find a lesson within its insanity. A way to cope in a world that wants to distract me, overtake me, overrun me, and lay to waste all that is right.
I ball my fists, ready for battle, then look at the ground and sigh. This is not the answer. Waging war is part of OP4's plan. It is their game, and nobody does it better. No. The winning hand is to hold what I have and to appreciate it. Head and eyes forward. I don't want the words to say anything but that I did that.
The thief keeps pulling threads in my tattered life story, trying to find the things that tangle me and then pull me ungraciously across the stage as I invoke damage control, explanation, and contingency. Fighting isn't conventional; it's paying the thief no mind, so they can't access you.
I don't want to forget what I have learned. I keep worrying that I will wake up tomorrow and not remember any of this. There is a game in play, and the rules are counterintuitive. It's a quiet war, but still a war anyway. Holding on is the only way, the only answer, the only way to win.
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