One of these days

One of these days, my story will be told. I will tell it, or it will be told, by someone else who cares enough to give it voice. (Oh yes, there is someone who cares for me enough to do this small, huge thing). My story will be told, and its audience will be astonished, first, and probably disbelieving, until the incontrovertible evidence is made plain, as plain as my story when it is told, by me or by someone who cares. Because it is a plain story, there are no fantastical embellishments or wild speculations, merely a line of words, sometimes straight and sometimes meandering, just like the path I have trodden. These words, being plain, will carry all the weight of that which has occurred, and finding their audience, they will bloom as understanding. And the disbelief will be made into realisation, as the jolting shock of horrified comprehension ebbs away, until what is left is witness to this story, this plain story that is my story, told by me or someone who cares for me, and a sincere apology will be made.