The Fig Tree

Hanging on

There was a time I thought the world could be saved. I though if you banged on the table hard enough, if you kept up your morals, if you pulled people out of fire, something would change at the end. Change into something good. But the world doesn't change with things like that. The world doesn't listen, it just devours.

You wake up someday and see you're doing something you've been putting a fight against your whole life. You take a look at yourself and see the monster you were always afraid of becoming. Neither being a hero helps, nor the truth. Or conscientiousness. It's just pain. A silent pain that crawls up your skin. And takes a piece of you with itself every time.

They say falling in a moment like it's a thing. They're wrong, falling takes a lifetime. I've taken a step down everyday for years. And now at the bottom of the well, voices don't echo. Just silence. And me. And hands that don't know how to save anymore.

People think that they're so complicated, that their intentions are hidden, that their feelings are unique. Something extraordinary. But believe me, it's nothing like that. You just have to close in on it a little bit; the way their eyeballs move around. Their tones and pauses, they unveil everything. Who's lying, who's afraid, who's trading. No one's clean. Some people just lie cleaner. No one's here for what they say they are.

What's up with me? Oh, I'm happy. I'm not looking for meaning no more. I'm not gonna save anyone. I just look, real close. I put a finger on their weaknesses and wait for them to break themselves. I learned everything before finishing. Now I'm just watching how everyone steps in the same path I did; and yet they smile.

For the ones who get it, there's no place left for believing anymore. And if you can't believe, you can't live. You just hang on. I'm hanging on.