Podia dizer muitas coisas mas, hoje, deixo a palavra à personagem que, sentada num banco de cabeça baixa, se questiona sobre as decisões que tomou e fica de olhos vagos sobre aquilo que lhe é caro.

As perguntas que não cessam e divagam em silêncio doloroso, as respostas que nunca... nunca chegam. 

Somos filhos orfãos que anseiam regressar a casa.

You know... I've been here for a very long time.

And I remember many things.

I remember being at a shoreline...

watching a little gray fish heave itself up on the beach

and an older brother saying:

don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish.

I remember the Tower of Babel...

all 37 feet of it,

which I suppose was impressive at the time.

And when it fell, they howled divine wrath.

But come on...

Dried dung can only be stacked so high.

I remember Cain and Abel...

David and Goliath...

Sodom and Gomorrah.

And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event.

Remarkable because it never came to pass.

It was averted by two boys...

an old drunk...

and a fallen angel.

The grand story.

And we ripped up the ending...

and the rules...

and destiny...

leaving nothing

but freedom and choice.

Which is all well and good,

except...

Well, what if I've made

the wrong choice?

How am I supposed to know?

I'm getting ahead of myself.

Let me tell you my story.

Let me tell you everything.

In Supernatural