Stones

I hold stones in my hands and lucidly wonder where to cast them. I have nowhere to throw these burdens that I hold, nowhere where someone will pay attention to the stones thrown.

So I continue to hold them in my hands. In all that I do and in all the places that I walk through, I don't release these stones. Instead, I press them deeper and deeper into my hands. They are the nails that attach me to my cross. They are the ropes that bind my wrists to the wooden planks.

Oh, how I aspire to finally find home, to finally find a place to cast the stones I hold. I hope to one day be able to release them from my grip and let them fall to the ground. I hope to have someone there to watch me throw them and come help me toss them away. Until that day comes, however, I must continue to hold on to my stones.

Over time, they grow heavier, and their weight begins to crush my hands. I don't know if I can keep this up. I don't know if I can keep holding onto them until someone saves me.