Sitting by the river

Sitting by the river, his mind was a whirlwind of gaps and fuzzy memories.

At times he felt like an old man, at others like a young man incapable of understanding the world.

He had lived fully, tasted the fleeting pleasures of a passing sailor.

But there were also seas of darkness in which he drowned, refusing to let his brain cells die.

A mysterious force told him he had to fight on.

Like the old kitchen junk, it waited in a corner without being discarded.

Even if he was a wisp of straw at the mercy of the wind, he knew that God had given him that fate.

The world needed his presence, even if other people's faces looked at him with pity.

There was something inside him that held a deep mystery, an unknown reason for his continued existence.