Shamelessly convinced to be right, I walked away. The dust, stirred by my haste, blurred those left behind.
The end of the journey, the end of the long walk, revealed the truth. I was wrong . . . maybe. But had I not risked the loss of something, by walking away from it, I never would have thought so. I never would have believed my anger at such a simple thing was groundless. Instead, the intense ire would be burning through every pore until my mind found a million past instances to prove my point.
In the end, my "point" had no value. It didn't matter one iota. It simply was no longer important to waste precious moments proving it.
The ire burned away in the cold dry wind that stung my cheeks and burned my eyes. The dust settled leaving the clarity I sought.
In the end, the value found, was in the walk itself.
2 comments:
This is a feeling that I have known
More often than I have cared to...
nor most certainly admit to,
Even long after the walk is over.
Though, I must admit,
that even at these particular times,
When the walk is done
with the pride still tender,
I most often fail
to feel that I was wrong.
I've always loved your stubborness.
8^)
you should not belive yourself to be wrong if you were correct. It is just that sometimes it is not so important to be right as it is to save somthing that is important.
g
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