So here I am, trying to save the world. I go to sleep plotting the
road to utopia and scheming how to widen it enough to take everyone
with. I know the work will be grueling. It will test the stuff I'm made
of. It will break me down then build me up then break me down again.
But I know the work must be done. By me. Because if you ask who is to
do it, then you might as well do it yourself, right?
And so here I am.
Trying to save the world.
But
a little voice in me persists in asking "Who will save me?" Who will
listen to me cry? Who will know the story of my heart? Whose eyes will I
seek out when I triumph? Will I seek them out so eagerly when I fail?
It is at times like this that I understand why religion is such a comfort. For what I am asking for is usually the realm of God.
But I know you are out there, looking for me, ntomb'enhle.
I think I need you now. Find me already.
