Foolish Storms
I spent too many years on a ship I didn’t steer, surrounded by people who thought they knew where they were going but never did. Some were selfish. Some were blind. Some just didn’t care if we ever made it anywhere at all. And I went along — not because I believed in them, but because I thought loyalty and love could keep the vessel afloat.
That’s the part that eats at me now. I saw the leaks. I heard the lies. I knew the wheel was in the hands of fools. But I stayed. I kept patching holes, kept bailing water, kept hoping reason would show up and take command. It never did.
The cost was years I’ll never get back. Trust wasted. Energy poured into people and situations that only knew how to take. I lived storms that weren’t mine, suffered wrecks I could have avoided, because I didn’t jump ship when I should have. That’s the truth. I held on too long, and it burned pieces of me I’ll never recover.
Now, with time short, I see the ship clearly. It was always doomed. You can’t navigate with fools at the helm. You can’t reach safe harbor when the crew is busy stabbing holes in the hull. And you can’t save people who want the chaos more than the calm.
I write this not from bitterness, but from clarity. I know what that ship was, and what it cost. And I know I’m not on it anymore. Whatever time I’ve got left, it’s not wasted on people who can’t steer or won’t listen. The fools had their turn. This part of the journey is mine — and the record of it will outlast their noise.