Forgive Me

Dirty Fingernails: For mechanics in Afghanistan filthy hands means finished repairs

The wind is cold and brutal against my face. It blows with such force that it feels like small shards of glass are being brushed across my skin as the snow hits it. I can’t move. In a way I feel if I move and do not give you a moment, my respect has gone. I’ve been reverting to my early ancestral roots to outwit you. It feels as though I haven’t really won this strange competition we’ve been in. I am ambivalent. I feel a sense of relief that the deed is done, but cannot escape the sorrow that fills my heart. I stand and look at your impermanence and come to the realization that we are all transient in this world. We all have a purpose, one way or another. We all have a primal need to feel life, in some way. My pursuit has allowed me to feel life. A struggle between predator and prey, man and beast. My feeling of life does not come from the taking of another life, but rather the adventure we’ve shared. My primal brain has shone through in our exploit. A need to appreciate that which fuels me. Without you I cannot survive. It is most unfortunate that such a thing must end with sorrow. Sometimes I wish I were not created this way. A need to take the life of another creature of this world to help me push on. Know that you are forever in my gratitude. You’re still omnipresent in nature, not physically, but in every bit of nature. I just hope that your soul can forgive me now that it has left your body. My hands have done the physical work, but my mind has done the hard labor. My mind is what needs your forgiveness now.

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