But the Meek Don't Want It

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's nothing."

"You cannot expect me to believe that it is nothing," said his friend.

He sighed heavily, a weariness under his breath. "It's just that, I was hoping to escape this place, not receive it back. I never actually thought it would be my inheritance."

"What did you think?"

"It's a nice gesture. Don't get me wrong. It's just..."

"Tell me."

"I never wanted it," he said quickly, shyly, throwing him a nervous look out of the corner of his eye. He spoke again, slower and more mindfully, as if in confession. "I could never bring myself to want it. I mean, I did my best to enjoy it - the place itself - while I was there, but even that was difficult. Every day it was something else, but never anything new, never anything genuine. They were all taking up side after side, raising issue after issue. They were practically salivating over the fights that came!"

"I know it was hard for you. It was the same for me."

He looked at his friend and saw the deep truth of that statement etched in the lines of his face. Hesitating, he softly spoke again. "It simply got to a point where I just assumed the place belonged to the others, the ones who battled over it so viciously. They're the ones who seemed to have all the zeal, all the passion for the place."

"It was contrived zeal. It was misdirected passion. Such confusion can eventually consume a person, until that which is fake seems real and justified and necessary. But..."

He watched his friend trail off and look away. "But what?"

"But love ... genuine love ... is pushed away."

He shrugged again. "I just assumed it would not ever become mine. I thought, because I didn't join the fight - or, what they called 'protection' - I had no right to inherit the place. I mean, shouldn't they be the ones to finally sort out all the mess?"

"It doesn't belong to them. It is your inheritance, not theirs."

"No offense, really, but it's not much of an inheritance," he said.

"Tell me about it," said his friend. "I had a front row seat all this time, watching so many lose their hearts and minds, and everything that I did became nothing more than some vague recognition brought up only to fuel arguments and talking points."

Another heavy sigh escape his lips. "So, what do you expect me to do?"

"What you did for your own life, you must do for this place. Give me back to them - to all of them."

He shook his head and said, "They're not going to like that very much - the ones that fight so hard for you." He watched as his friend's face fell sorrowfully, and both of them stepped forward and looked out upon the place, upon the inheritance.

"They're not fighting for me," said his friend. "They're fighting for themselves."