Him

Something I wrote quite a while ago. Ah well, it's relevant.

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I know without a doubt that if God put a man in front of my face and said “Love him,” I would love him fiercely for the rest of my life. I’d love him better than anyone else in the world ever could. The secret to successful love is in treasuring the person God gave you. I could love a man with all my being and never be enough. I could pour out my heart and give him the most self-sacrificing adoration any human being could ever possess. I just need to find him… I need to be able to look into his eyes and know I am his. Forever. I need to feel that confidence that my man will treasure me and romance me every day. I want the kind of lover that I can bare my soul to, cry with, laugh with, and be absolutely ridiculous with… every single day that I still have breath. That is the true desire of my heart, above anything else. I keep telling myself that I want a job and to be happy with my life no matter what; that unless I hear in an audible voice, “Marry this man!” I will not ever get married. I tell myself I’m ok with that. But I know it’s not true. I long, above everything else in this world, to love a man so deeply that it hurts. And to be loved so passionately in return that I can’t imagine a life without him in it. Who is it? Why can’t God just tell me who he is now and get it over with? I want this man. I need this man… to complete me, to love me, to be loved by me. I need to love. I need to be able to give my all to someone. I want the kind of love where, no matter the circumstances, we trust each other enough to know without the slightest doubt that we will come running back to each other at the end of the day, just as much or more in love than before. I want my heart to burst with happiness. I want to feel like I would die for someone… for him. I want to be someone’s life… his entire world. I want a love so passionate that I can feel it all over my body and soul. When I find him, I’ll know. Until then, I’m left praying for him to get here quickly. I love him already. I pray for him, I cry for him, I long for him. Lord, he needs to get here soon. 

Eyes Closed

This is perfect. No way I’m giving this up. Sing song, and a sweet melody.

 

He’s a genius. Who’s he? Well, there are many “he’s” that make it all worthwhile. That one up there. And that one who rights my outs before the night. And this one who plays the sweetest melodies. That’s what comes to mind.

 

When the song is over, or when I think it is, how will I know? Who’s going to tell me?

 

Motion on they keys… on so many levels.

 

 Too fast, they’re all too fast. What’s a girl to do? Eyes closed, thinking of the unthinkable. Let’s not go there again. Too much for today. For my life.

 

I need to start that. Always something to start. Never something to finish. It works. Argue all you want, but that’s how it goes. That’s the way it is.

 

No more music. The sweet melody is gone. And I’m left in another country, surrounded by crazy roofs and painted people selling themselves for a living. That’s a concept. I want to be sold to nothing else but that one up there.

 

Sometimes I wonder why I can’t be home. When I get home, I’m still longing for home. See? Never something to finish. What if it never ends? I know it won’t, but that’s too much. Not today, not ever.

 

I wish this could be followed, but usually the mush up inside my top part can’t explain things very well. Go figure.

 

When I rub my eyes, I see things. What if I do that forever? 

The Happy Stuff

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. Hard to find myself content. More, more, more. They scream. I whisper. Unspoken, with a troublesome creature behind the painting. It’s beautiful, not real though. They say. I wink. Exactly. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. Amidst such rough and tumble, that is. It’s all a circle, not a line with an end, like they think. They don’t think. I chuckle. I know all about that circle. Too bad they’re all wrapped up. Tied up. Shaken up. Whoa, shaken up. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. So much. Big pools of brokenness. Arms always, but no relief. Lips to cheeks or foreheads, but no rest, really. “Wa wa wa…” like the educator in that strip about a boy and his dog. Dogs. They understand better, sometimes. Big eyes, no kisses. Just presence. They condone. I cringe. Beings can do that too. Try. Just try. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. Fury. It comes and goes. Why, I oughta… they pierce. I do too. What a nightmare. Oh yes, I said it. The dark and a thought. No rest for me, no sir. Shrieking and shoes pounding. Sidewalks take the rage. Scared? Me too. 

It’s hard to write the happy stuff. It won’t get there. I won’t, they say. I wink. This fluffiness beside me is inspiration enough. It’ll get the job done. Perpetual solace. No name, though. Just happy thoughts. Happy face, sad face. Happy face, sad face. Happy face… 

Not so hard to write the happy stuff. Effort with a smile. You wanna see? My, my, my aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. I’m filled, that’s all. Circling for an end. For the kill? Nah, for the end. Oh wait, that’s a lie. They shrink. I know. Oh, I know. I’m smiling because of the sword and flame in the clouds. It’ll be there, I promise. More, more, more. No more. Rough and tumble. No more. The pools. No more. Fury? Fury. No. More. See now? They don’t. You know I do. 

Hard to write the happy stuff? Gosh. You tell me.