“There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole. Its so far from your weapon, the place you were born. There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole. You’re so far from your weapon and you wanna go home” ~ The Dead Weather
“Who’s got the gun?” Isn’t that what we really want to know? Who has the upper hand? Who’s in charge? Who will determine how this will end? And, if it comes down to it, whose bullet will I need to dodge?
We’ve seen it a million times… One guy has the gun. The other guy knocks it out of his hand. They both dive for it, wrestle on the ground, and then…
Who is bleeding? Who caused the wound? Who will walk away – and who won’t?
There are metaphorical moments in life just like this. We hope to be last man standing.
Yet, the one who survives, the “lucky” guy, is also the one who carries the wound into the world, where no one can see the stain, but him.
-with love, jrb