The more time we spend throwing stones, the more time we spend building glass houses. The mirror reflects what is to painful to see so we cast another sin. I carry many stones that are like anchors holding me to shores of my own self loathing. When I crush these boulders of despair I find I only have smaller stones that span the infinite. With optimism I begin the tiresome job of endless hurling, knowing one day my efforts won't be in vain. As I cast the final stone, I meet my maker wearing only my dead clothes bearing a rancid look of contemplation.
