The art of music is difficult to read.
The art of dancing is difficult to understand.
The art of a paintbrush's stroke is difficult to interpret.
The art of knowing thyself is the most complex to learn.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Yet, even with its difficulty, I still want to try.
I still want to read.
I still want to understand.
I still want to interpret.
I still want to learn.
But I'm not sure if the water will let me.
I look towards the faucet and fingers grip my shirt.
Learn, she said while nodding her head.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The water won't allow me, I reply.
Her grip on me only tightens.
Then allow yourself to do so.
YOU ARE READING
A Prose With No Direction
SpiritualA prose with no direction. A mind with no guidance. A human without a purpose. That is the kind of story I hate to be. That is the kind of story I, unfortunately, am.
