Deaf to my objections
When I first received word of the arrival of your presence, I immediately felt a suffocating and foreshadowing of menacing threats that I was sure was a prophesy of potential tragic developments. All I could see were forbidding thunderclouds.
As I’ve done before and because all I have left remaining are these words of yours which are significantly traced on paper as if they were strategically placed there to last forever, I continue to read and reread. My hands are trembling as a consequence of your past attempt to murder something so close to me. But, in my astonished mind, I was thrown into an abrupt halting of time when I was met with a kinder and more gentler impression of your wrath. Your words spoke with a burr but not so viscous that I stumbled off balance from your sharp blows.
As I survey the pages, I hear the emotional dejection you have suffered. My first reaction is to correct some of your beliefs and assertions that I feel are not correct or true but I have to ask myself why I feel any need to express myself to you. I am uncertain from past experiences that you won’t reduce my voice as just prattle and lies. Besides, I am not interested in persuading you, accusing you or blaming you nor am I interested in hearing how I have ruined what was once thought of as a lengthy covenant. It is probably a harsh injustice on my part because apparently for so long I have not heard your previous cries for help. But I can’t resist wanting to make everything right again. I just won’t do it, not before I scream at you for absolving yourself from your sins and from any of the blame. Thrown upon my shoulders you have piled mounds of guilt and hate resulting from your unfinished business. I carry the weight of this mountain and you strangle the words from my mouth and they die as a result of your deafness.
You ask not one question.
