The Silent Signals of Certitude

We rush headlong through a whirlwind of modern technology, a pace so relentless it steals our very capacity for pause. We cannot bear to look back, to offer a moment of sympathy, to truly feel for the one who once held us close. But has the thought ever chilled us—what happens when the years carve deep lines of emaciation into our faces, when cruel illness strips every last vestige of our former glory? How then will we stand, a ghost in a world that rushes past, and what will we truly see when we finally turn to face the world around us?

The river of life is flowing in its own way, and I am one of those who sit on a lifeboat and have been collecting pearls. I polish them with my feelings and experience. Finally, attempting to render their aching luminescence onto my canvas in a desperate riot of colors and shapes.

The Silent Signal of Certitude

Once in a while, in such a way, I stumbled upon a familiar, tattered boat cast aside on the riverbank's debris. This was the very vessel that had reliably carried me across the river countless times, safely navigating storms and uncertainty to reach its destination. I paused, a silent tribute to the boat, now left alone to slowly surrender to the river's currents. It rests in a secluded spot, its past journeys likely its only company, overlooked and forgotten by all others. Only it silently serves the signal of certitude.

The sun slowly sets, and the sky gets darker in purple-blue. Waves of the water bump into the riverbank and whisper to me, ‘Can you remember this old friend? '