If they said that every man’s troubles were to be written on his grave, some would flee and die in as many foreign lands as possible.
And if it where said that every man’s debts were to be read out loud in church, some would flee while we closed our eyes in worship.
And if it were that we could taste our neighbour’s tears in every savoured glass of wine, some would sleep as early as the chickens and never be seen in the morning.
I always hoped that I would grow up to face my own sins and be held accountable.
But if every shed of blood was to be added to the ink of my pen, then maybe I too would curl into a tight coil like a millipede, because I could have seven hundred legs, but never enough to run from the truth.