Well, good morning to you too

Got woken up this morning with the most serious of conversations, had to go straight into my parents room and was spoken to about my life decisions and how directionless I am right now.

So, I showed my dad an excerpt from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran (my mother left when I brought in the book to go for a run), and I think he missed the point of it a little bit. So I left their room, and now am in bed listening to Sigur Rós under my blankets, pretty bummed out because I really wanted to have a beautiful sunday and now I feel like it is just slightly out of my reach. But I'm going to try anyway. It's a lovely day outside at least.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Untitled #8-Sigur Rós