Everything Happens for a Reason.
I had a rough day, so went for a walk—a leisurely stroll.
Came across a man sitting on the bridge, had a box and a pole.
Looked up at me and nodded as I continued to walk past.
So I smiled and said, “Good evening, sir.” He threw a cast.
Then I heard him say, “Walking is good, but it doesn’t go away.”
I stopped, stood quiet for a moment, I was lost for what to say.
So I walked back to where he stood, and looked at the bay.
It was calm and shimmered hues of gray, brilliant blue.
Before I could speak, he said, “What troubles you?”
My eyes, still fixated on the captivating view,
It took me a moment—maybe two—to reply.
I looked at him slowly turning his line.
He said, “Go on now, don’t be shy, I have all the time.”
Something about him drew me in, I proceeded to explain.
“People don’t listen. They nod, they refrain.
They talk just to talk, point fingers, throw blame.
No one looks deeper. They don’t see what they’ve been given.
They’re moving through life—but not really living.
I don’t know… maybe I’m just trying to make it make sense.
But I can’t tell if it’s me… or the world that’s bent.”
He reeled in slow. Set the rod down.
Spoke with no rush. No smile. No frown.
“Most folks search for light they already stood in.
But they never stop walking long enough to look in.
That box?”
He nudged it forward with his worn old shoe.
“Most think it holds tackle—but if only they knew.
A cane. A raincoat. A photo long torn.
A moment I kept from the day I was born.
Sometimes I come here, not to fish—but to stand.
To feel what I can’t see. To hold still what I can.”
He paused. Let the silence finish his thought.
Then said—
“You think eyes are what see, but they’re only the gate
The soul does the looking—when it stops to wait.
And if truth has a voice, it’s the one we ignore.
The one that’s been whispering long before more.”
The wind stayed still. The water moved with the tide.
And the box at his feet—
held every single thing
he never let outside.
Angela
—The voice beneath Daughter, Unwritten
