Wanderland

I wonder -

It’s rare to find a person you mesh so well with that you wonder if the two of you might have been made from the same string of soul thread. That’s how I feel about V. And, I never have to worry about letting her go or losing her, because I know if we were woven with the same piece of string, I’ll always find my way back to her. It’s just a matter of belonging.

As a young child, I thought I had figured out an infallible and most obvious way to prevent someone from killing you - in the moment before your assailant strikes, you tell him, "But, I love you," - even if it's a lie. His arm would pause mid swing, expression baffled, heart melting, and suddenly he would love you and cease to hurt you. After all, aren't we all yearning for love? After all, you would never hurt someone who loves you, not? But as I grew I learned that love does not work that way. It is not so powerful to stop the punch of a fist, the slap of a palm, the force of bitterness and malice. It is not so convincing to suddenly turn a black heart light. Because, you could be screaming with all your heart, "but, I love you!" honest and raw, and ever so desperately vulnerable and still the person you love the most could strike you down without a hint of hesitation. And so as I am grown now, not so naive but just quite as foolish, I tell you the same thing: "I love you," all the while pleading in my heart, "please don't hurt me."

It hurts to talk. It literally hurts to talk.

One step at a time. Inhale. Exhale. Your lungs are still breathing; heart is still beating. Put down your phone and take a nap - social media will not fill the hole in your heart and rest will do you well. Walk however many blocks down the street you need to get the Ben&Jerry's you've been craving all week. A touch of sweetness will brighten your disposition and the exercise will clear your mind. Text or call a friend when your weeping reaches a point where you cannot breathe out of your nose - they'll hear your ugly cry but at least they won't see it and just knowing someone hears you can crack the deafening silence of your lonely bedroom. Don't be so scared; they're your friends. They will not judge you or find you burdensome. Even if they cannot help or comfort you, they can show you that you are not alone - you are never alone. Journal and reflect about it; don't run away from the pain. You have to face it at one point or another and the more you push off the encounter, the more it festers in spiteful loathing for being brushed aside. Cry as much as you have to. Yes, you are weak but isn't that the nature of human beings? Isn't everyone like this? Who is able to pick themselves back up at the snap of the fingers, at the flip of a switch, at the incessant demands of the heart? No - healing is a time consuming process and there is no shortcutting it as you will find that shortcuts often lead you astray and you find yourself even more lost than you had been before. Grit your teeth, press into the pain, feel your heart muscles expand and contract in an effort to expel the hurt from your chest and accept it. "I am hurting." Get help if you need to - look up therapists in the area and make an appointment. Don't think about the inconvenience, the costs, the effort. If you need help, you need help and you must get help. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with the people around you. Don't hide, don't run away. Above all else, pray. Trust and hope that one day this pain will stop. One day, the hurt will subside. When heaven makes its way to earth and Jesus returns in all His glory and might, He will lay His hands on your heart, with aching tenderness, and take all of the sadness away.

You need to forgive him, child. Your soul depends on it.

I oscillate between wanting people to believe I’m on top of the world and wishing someone would hug me tight as possible because pain has a way of making you feel like your entire being is falling apart - skin, flesh, and bones unraveling and separating because your soul has nothing left to hold them together in the aftermath of a broken heart.

The cold was warm today. It was not biting. It was not cruel. It was refreshing and light, dancing across my skin - it caressed my cheeks and painted them rose and I thought to myself, “I wouldn’t mind feeling cold - if only it’d feel like this.”

I realize I messed up - but I messed up within the confines of His grace and He allowed me to make a mistake, out of the pure intentions of my heart, to use my mess to glorify His Name. And although I could have done everything right from the start, although I could have saved myself a boat load of pain - who am I to say that I would come out of it the better of? All I know is this - I am cared for and loved and comforted in this moment of my pain and I would not trade the world for it.

Your love like stardust Warm and bright in one moment - Then gone with the wind

I often sleep when I am waiting for you - time passes by more quickly and if I'm lucky, you are with me in my dreams.

I don't want him to be in pain. I don't want him to be in pain. If I could take all of it and store it within me, even if I should die, I want to do it - if only he'd be okay.

What do you know about love, child? If you think this is love - this aching, twisting feeling in your heart - you're wrong. Love breaks and mends you. It fills you. It does not hurt you like this. It does not consume you like this. It envelopes you and frees you. What do you know about love, child?

There it was; a tiny faded crescent ring in the darkening sky that prompted me to think: The world is moving too fast when there is not enough time to just stop and stare at the clouds and the moon, to carefully think through the various colors of the sunset (let's see there's: indigo, cerulean, orange gold, rose, dusk violet, cornflower, lavender...) before they all disappear in the swift arrival of night. But for the sun and the moon to appear in the sky at the same time; perhaps the earth dances to a time of its own and it is a pace much appreciated by the celestial skies.

She was the type of person who would walk smack dab into a pole because she was too busy staring at the colors of the sunset.  He was the type of person who would unwittingly let her because he was too absorbed by the color of her eyes to take in any of their precarious surroundings.

I used to write all these songs on the guitar. They were beautiful songs. I loved playing them and listening to the melodies that could be woven into the notes. None of them ever had words. Everyone always said that I had a pleasant voice and wouldn’t it sound wonderful if I just put it to good use? “Why not sing the lyrics?” they’d ask me as I hummed sparingly along and I’d tell them with a wink of the eye and a catch in my throat; “There are none.” My voice, my words, my heart. They all died with my songbird and until I find her again, my songs will be as wordless as I was when she left.