Lazarus, that's my name. I was trapped on an island in 1944, for fifteen years. An Earthquake destroyed many underwater mountains making fishing possible for the region I was trapped in. It led to my rescue. When I was deployed in the war, my beloved wife and four-year-old son were heartbroken. After years of prayer, did we get our son. I couldn't see him grow up and become a man. I couldn't teach him how to shave or how to do basic repairs of a car or teach him how to ride a bike or shoot. I couldn't be there for my wife. She might have suffered a lot. Some part of me wishes that she remarried yet, my soul prays she is still waiting for me. I miss her smile when I would be cutting the firewood or sweeping the yard. She needed me for everything in the house. My heart melts when I think of how she had to take care of the house and raise our son alone. My son would be a man by now. The man of the house. I hope he is good to his mother. I hope he does well in school. I...
I write for a multitude of reasons. sometimes to escape, sometimes to create and play god. But if the question is why do I write, then I am sorry to say that I have no reason. Or to be exact, I don't know any reason. Sometimes I get pleasure out of it, sometimes it numbs my pain, sometimes the opposite. sometimes nothing at all. I guess this is how I process life. please read through my heart and mind, and leave a comment to let me know how you felt these words.