Cyrus’ Journal: May 1883 – About Them Greeks
More and more I’m liking what some of them Greeks had to say. Seems like they did nothin’ else but sit around and try to puzzle out the world around‘em. Which, I guess, is not too far from how I spend my days. But the thing is they must’ve had a far better knack at getting’ at the answers. All I ever end up with is questions.
Of course, they’re not ‘round anymore. Must be somethin’ to that. Some lesson or the like ‘bout sittin’ and thinkin’ and not doin’ much with it. Not that I can do much with that lesson.
Solitary as I am. One man ‘gainst the world. Works well for the stories, but kicks you in the teeth if you try it for real. I ask my questions to anyone that’ll sit still long enough, but not a damn one of ‘em cares. The kindest of ‘em nod and smile, but at the end they go back to their boring, pointless lives.
That’s harsh, and I know it. Not too many lives are pointless. Few, yes. But not the majority. They just seem content to live just like their momma and sweat just like their daddy, with no thought or pause ‘bout how there might be a better way.
And that kills me. Eats right at my soul. How can anyone else stand that feelin’? How can they not catch even the most sideways of glances at a better, happier type of themselves and live like it could never be true? I know most have seen that better version. I can tell by the way they look to the dirt when I press with the right questions, or how their feet won’t stay still.
I guess some just keep runnin’ for the water whenever the fire breaks out. Not me. Not that I’ve tried to put out my fire, but I’m not even sure I ever could. The gaze pulled me, and the fire presses me on. Move and move and move and rest only when my body gives out, then get up and move and move again. Keep read’n to find the questions I don’t know to ask yet.
I know if I ask enough questions I start findin’ the right answers, and I know that just as well as I know the answers are there to find. Sure, them Greeks prolly died from all that thinkin’, but all that thinkin’ had to’ve built to somethin’ worthwhile.