"The reason he can’t accept the idea of God", my friend said about his friend back home, "is because he knows once he does he will have to give up his anger, for there will be no justification for it anymore, and he has a lot of anger."
I haven’t relinquished my anger because I fear that it has become the only conduit by which certain people and places still exist, and if I close the channel then they will die out and be forgotten and I am not ready to forget nor be forgotten. So I kept the embers of memory glowing red in spite of the winds of acceptance by building my anger a home where it became comfortable, preferring the comforts and warmth of delusion over the harsh winters of reality.
In the end one house fall and one house will stand. The house on the rock or the one on the sand that is home to the heart of a bitter old man.