Struggle

Vast ocean, a lone sail, a waning moon, a violent wind, towering waves. Sailing with the wind, the night is deep, lost and helpless in the darkness; the ship capsizes, the sea is too cold. My eyes are black, not meant to seek light—that is the protective color of the night. The faint moonlight, the crisp wind chime—are they memories of the past, strung one after another, never ceasing, wanting to awaken something, to take me where? There is no turning back, standing at the edge of the mire, just lingering. Inside, a kapok tree, tall, bearing abundant fruit; what I want is the star on its branch, bright and gorgeous, moving beyond words. Take one more step forward, and I'll sink in, but it's just one more fall. The star shines as before, but I can no longer see it. Yet I have never climbed that tree. I fear that my very first step will sink into the mire, that I will struggle only in vain. I don't want all my efforts to be effective; an outcome is itself a destination. The world is not fair, but you can't just have nothing. I hold the scales of life: on one side my fate, on the other God's promise. I am convinced I can triumph over fate, so I act without restraint. But I inadvertently discover that God has broken faith. I can only bet on myself once more. I am afraid that I too will forget my promise, lose myself, cry "GG", and quietly exit the stage. Fantasy is light as dust—how can it be weighed against fate? To go or not to go, in a single thought, is already a fine play.