What do I say from a distance? How can I really help the pain?
I dreamed last night that I put my arms around you and held you tight for a long time. Yes, she was my cousin, but she was your daughter. You're the one who hears the echoes of her laughter and feels that great, big void where she used to stand. You'll make it through the motions; I know you will. But when everything's over, she'll still be gone. And what can I say to that?
I'm working on "I love you" because anything else would probably be a mere Bandaid: it won't stop the pain. And after that's over, I want you to know that I'll pray, pray that God will become bigger every day until the joy outweighs the pain. Somehow, He will.
6/20/05
one hundred percent
You try hard to make it look like one hundred, but we all know it's not. I wonder if you think you're fooling us into believing you're complete. I don't know if it's zero or ninety. But really, without one hundred, it may as well be zero.
"Thinking" doesn't cut it, girl.
You say I'm being harsh?
Maybe.
But I have to be.
I wish I could be harsh more often.
What do you think, hear, feel? What do you wish? What do you dream?
And why won't you let us in?
Forget about us. I'm praying for one hundred.
"Thinking" doesn't cut it, girl.
You say I'm being harsh?
Maybe.
But I have to be.
I wish I could be harsh more often.
What do you think, hear, feel? What do you wish? What do you dream?
And why won't you let us in?
Forget about us. I'm praying for one hundred.
6/8/05
born
"I must be obedient or I'll miss them all. There are too many coming to not be writing." -08.june.2005
I believe the stories come from God. I believe the dreams did too. They crept up on me and surprised me with their drama, their wit, their truth. I had very little -- okay, nothing -- to do with it. And even now... I was compelled. Compelled, I tell you.
Shoot, I'm running out of time if I don't start today. What'll happen to the stories if I don' t get them down, ink on paper? They'll die, that's what. They'll die.
Boom -- NOW! -- there it was. And I HAD to write before I forgot. I've forgotten songs, and dreams, and tasks. But I don't have to. I choose to.
I believe.
----
Dear Reader (yes, I really am talking to YOU), I'm just curious -- what does all this mean to you? I posted it because I thought it might be interesting to you. So, you can take it or leave it... but I'd be interested to know which one.
I believe the stories come from God. I believe the dreams did too. They crept up on me and surprised me with their drama, their wit, their truth. I had very little -- okay, nothing -- to do with it. And even now... I was compelled. Compelled, I tell you.
Shoot, I'm running out of time if I don't start today. What'll happen to the stories if I don' t get them down, ink on paper? They'll die, that's what. They'll die.
Boom -- NOW! -- there it was. And I HAD to write before I forgot. I've forgotten songs, and dreams, and tasks. But I don't have to. I choose to.
I believe.
----
Dear Reader (yes, I really am talking to YOU), I'm just curious -- what does all this mean to you? I posted it because I thought it might be interesting to you. So, you can take it or leave it... but I'd be interested to know which one.
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