There’s nothing left here for you anymore.
Pack your bags and burn the house.
Do not cry for none of this was every truly yours.
Like a leaf that has fallen into a river, flow away.
Let the water purify, let it carve away at you like it would stone.
Be reborn a masterpiece, what you were always suppose to be.
Shake the water from your hair, let the sun dry you.
This river bank is all your unanswered prayers.
Every wrong turn, every second has lead you to this moment.
It is okay to be afraid but know you are not alone.
The whisper of the wind is prove of this.
And if this does not comfort you remember
that you are made up of energy and energy can
neither be created nor destroyed but only transferred.
You can be transferred to who ever you want to be.
Do not forget this even in your worst moment.
For you are capable of greatness.
You are the main character of this story
and the ending is going to be good .
The whisper of the wind is prove of this."
When I was 8 years old I use to dream about becoming a knight.
With a sword and a spear I could protect the walls of the castle against any offender.
When I was 10 years old I decided that instead of defending walls I would build them.
Like a grand architect I would spend hours drawing up plans for a unbreachable fortresses.
Now I am 18 years old and I no longer dream of becoming a knight or a stone mason.
But yet I still build walls not around majestic castles that I built in my head but around myself.
With every hurt and heartbreak I place another stone, build another level, higher and higher.
I have ran out of bricks and I can no see over the top of this barricade I have created.
I the jailer, builder of prisons have found myself enclosed in my own dark cell.
And one can only live in the dark for so long before they forget about the light.
They did not share this in the stories or tales of old; I think the bard had forgot a line.
I have forgotten that sometimes to rebuild one must tear down all the walls and start anew.