Prayers of a Tired Mind

There are some days in which that sickening loneliness pervades so many of my thoughts and words that it becomes all that I can write, or even think. Somehow it creeps into my veins like a drug, and the symptoms take years to fade away, like the memories. And then, there are days like today; I look back and my hasty heart brushes past all the feelings and memories of the past. In a search for the new I forget the old, forget the lessons learned, forget the pain. A strange wildness creeps into my heart and turns my eyes from the past; suddenly the green of my eyes sparkles to match the budding of spring. It's a new year, a new day--everyday; I have so many opportunities to change the way I think, the attitude that controls so much of who I am, and even the way that my many moments slip into eternity. Wildly the wind bursts through the trees, no longer shy, but excited, and my heart catches it's thrill. My eyes open to see the silver lining on the clouds as the sun is sinking low; buds suddenly burst from branches of trees and bushes, the many, many bird songs are heard romancing through the twilight sky. As that evening sun sinks lower and lower on the horizon, and all those songs sink into soft coos, and then quiet breathing, my heart also quiets, and my mind starts to dull. That heaviness is creeping over my eyelids, and the warmth of slumber overtakes my bones. Subtly the tenseness of the day melts away until my mind realizes that this pencil has slipped from my fingers and rests on my sheets like a stranger. The wild curls that grace my head lie still upon my pillow, no longer blown by gusts of wind or teased by flakes of snow. My cheeks, once pink, now mellow into softer tones, and as I sleep this light will flicker, to and fro, dim and brighter, like the flickering of my soul. Maybe tonight I'll find the rest that my soul and body craves. Maybe tonight this dream I dream will be illuminated by my mind. Maybe tonight I'll close my eyes, not exhausted from never going anywhere, but rather preparing for a day in which every breath is a moment in which I can live to the fullest. And again my prayer will rise to God, a fragrance from my lips: create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me; teach me to number my days, to apply my heart unto wisdom. Oh God, my God, earnestly will I again seek You.

Drifting Away, I Know

It's a nice feeling when someone wants to hold onto you. I'm sure we've all had that experience of wanting someone close to you, and in your life so badly that you end up clinging to them too tightly, so tightly that they feel suffocated. I wonder if that whole experience could be avoided if they too held on--onto you. Maybe we feel the need to cling tighter when we feel like we are being let go, and deep inside a tingling panic starts to take control of what we do. Suddenly everything focuses in on that one person, and how they are slowly slipping away. They don't answer your texts, don't return your phone calls, pretend like they don't see you in the grocery store, and then one day you wake up to realize that they're not even around anymore--they've moved away, moved on with their life, forgotten you. And you feel ashamed for clinging, but yet a sickening sadness clings to your heart and your bones and your heartbeats. A heavy sheen of sadness clings to the tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and you suddenly develop allergies when your family asks why your nose is dripping so much that you have to carry tissues. The days drag on and on, seemingly with no purpose and no plan, and you feel like you're not going anywhere. Stuck in a one-horse town, seeing the same faces every day, and it grows so old that you wish you could die in your sleep. When night comes, it's all you can do to stay in your bed; instead you feel like pacing the length of this empty house or jogging down the street at 3am until you break a sweat in the February air. All at once everything that you see reminds you of them--the steaming cup of tea on the counter, the cute couple holding hands in the grocery store, the park full of green grass that you laid in together and shared dreams--even the way you pull your chapstick out of your pocket, even the way the breeze brushes your cheek like his fingers used to do. Tomorrow turns into today, and today turns into yesterday; yesterday into last week, and last week into last month; every hour the agony fades so imperceptibly until one night, you realize that agony has been replaced with sadness, and sadness with apathy, and apathy with regret. Regret turns into bitterness, but the bitter taste in your mouth will slowly wear away, just like the taste of his kiss did, just like the memory of his arms faded from your dreams. Maybe, in the end, time doesn't heal old wounds, but rather covers them with a layer of sadness, just so that your heart won't beat all of its life-blood out of your veins onto the concrete. It may not waste all your blood, but in the end, it still stains the ground, and you are still left weaker than you ever were before.

In the Middle of These Moments

Like soft fingers grazing my skin, the sunlight through the window warmed my cheeks; the light filtered in through the foggy kitchen window and spread a soft evening glow upon the room. I love the feel of that light upon my skin, when the light doesn't burn, but warms even though this February breeze cools my face and makes goose bumps rise on my arms. Eyes closed, I hear, for the first time, the beginning of this spring blooming in the voice of the robin echoing through that light I love so much. No matter where I am, when I hear that song suddenly I feel like I'm at home. Maybe it's ingrained into my memory like a chisel makes a crack in stone. The planes flying close spin me back to hot summer days and warm autumn nights when the crickets chirp and sing along with the robins. I see my deep eyes reflecting; they shine a laughing green into the mirror of this glass back at me; through the glass I watch the birds play in the streets and swoop between the trees, dancing in the fading sunlight of those little hours when romance seems to fill the air and fill my lungs with songs I've never sung. I know that no matter where I am and wherever this body will carry my soul, I will still be moved by those moments. Some days I'll forget the memories, those days when the only thing pervading my soul is an overwhelming darkness. I long for those summer days to come around again--when quiet walks through empty woods will calm my heart, and empty meadows become amphitheaters for me to watch the stars. I wonder if I'll ever forget the way we looked at the stars together, or if I'll ever forget the way your arm nonchalantly slipped around my shoulders. Maybe I shouldn't cherish those memories anymore, now that you're not a part of my life. Maybe I should just remember all the times I've sought the pattern of the constellations alone, only remember the quiet moments when my heart was engulfed in peace that comes from God alone. Maybe I'll just wander through these woods that my mind has memorized in my dreams, sometimes haunted, sometimes bright--maybe I'll just close my eyes and once again listen to the songs that ring through my head; revel in the good memories, and try to forget the bad.