Permission to throw

I picked up Paulo Coelho's 'By the River Pieces I sat down and wept' again this evening.

It's a book about what it means to love, to trust, to surrender. But it appears I am merely skimming words tonight, even tho I'm a firm believer that books mirror what you think / feel.

Why do I say that? Cos I just went and asked what now seems to be an idiotic question. And the reply that followed may well have been a flying shoe.

What is it gonna take before I can believe what I cannot see?! Or rather what I cannot show...

That's twice  now and I know there cannot be a third. Even he can take only so much distrust. And we all know that the solution to quell that lies not in  what he can do. No one can give me what I cannot give myself.

And that right now feels downright shitty.