Spem semper habemus


Do not look at me and say that I am a hero.  You have not seen me worry.  You’ve not heard me mutter a prayer hoping to live another moment.  You’ve not felt my anxiety.  Do not consider me a killer either.  You do not know the love that I hold within my heart and the sacrifice that I make.  Do not look in my direction and say the words ‘coward’.  For where were you when I went into harms way, over and over again?  Do not call me fearless.  For I am very afraid.  Do not call me great.  I have failed more times than I care to remember.  Do not call me a saint.  I have been petty and shallow and selfish.

I am a human… a man… afraid of losing… afraid sometimes of even trying… afraid of loving… afraid of being alone… afraid of dying… afraid of killing.  What human lives in a box?  Is anyone lucky enough to be born in a world without pain?  What sort of human… what sort of soul would this make?

One of the arguments for/against the existence of God is the question of evil, and one of the answers of such is the development of soul.  I cannot remember my stance on it.  I investigated this argument in the past and came to some philosophical conclusion that is recorded in some dusty section of my brain.  This, however, is not philosophy right now.  This is my life.  What sort of soul would I have were it not for pain?  I have so much to give… yet would this be the same were I not beaten, bruised, bloodied, shamed, humiliated, horrified, sickened, lonely, frightful, overburdened, restrained, frustrated, or more?  I am no great soul.  I am no towering intellect, nor deep heart, nor novel thinker.  I am simply… used goods.  I am a life that has seen a fair share already.

Spem semper habemus

… we always have hope.

I have a love of beauty.  It is my religion.  There is beauty in the most unknown places, un-thought of areas… ways and means that escaped me before.  In our hurry to reach the top of the mountain of enlightenment we sometimes miss the brook beside the path.  I believe that I have worth and value and that those things I offer are wanted… at least by someone.  Pardon me if I am not too terribly heartbroken if Paris Hilton does not appreciate me.  I find her impoverished, though I am going on as she is presented in the media and not on direct knowledge.  I could be wrong.

Somewhere there is someone that fits well with me.  Someone who matches me well and who feels the same way.  What magic might exist between her and I?

Yet the question was raised by myself, and indeed was echoed by the voice of someone else, what right have I to ask someone to care for me, to invest her heart and feelings into me, with the possibility of another impending deployment to combat?  How selfish and uncaring is it of me to think of my own desires for companionship and intimacy to ignore this?  As was told to me earlier, it is ‘her choice’ to do so.  Yes, it is.  Doesn’t make it any easier for me to settle it in my heart.  Yet it doesn’t make me want to keep from contact either.

Spem semper habemus

… we always have hope.


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