for such a time as this
Maybe I've been reading too much science fiction lately, but it's easy to imagine that this little apartment - my little pocket of the universe - exists in between worlds... especially when I sometimes go days at a time without interacting with another human, or even speaking aloud.
"Somehow, I ended up here - in between where there is always the comfort of knowing I'll never be seen..."
Yet, somehow, even in this silence - it's always so loud inside my head.
And perhaps Esther was born for such a time as this, but I can't help feeling like I was not. If there is a war waging outside my window, I am not sure that I'm strong enough to do anything more than avert my eyes and close the shutters. And maybe I once was, but I have been fighting my own internal war for decades - and it never seems like either side gains an inch, let alone winning a mile.
It's exhausting, building walls. But not more exhausting than constantly having to pick up the shards of my heart and painstakingly fit them back together again.
Build a wall, or build a mountain. It's all exhausting. What I wouldn't give for some real, steadfast, peace-restorative, old-fashioned hope.
It seems like a distant memory, now. A nighttime view out your hotel window of the Eiffel Tower - that will never in your life be the same as it was before.
Even now, this silence in my home that screams so loudly in my head; it pierces. It feels like the fabric of my mind ripping somehow in two, parallel only to the fissure running down through my heart. How is it possible that, at the same time, my heart clings desperately to this foolish belief in love, while also feeling entirely resigned to the fact that it's not what I was made for?
"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope."
I believe in love - I just don't believe in it for me.
Although I talk to God in my head all day long, and although I thank Him for every small win - and pray through every rough spot - how could I ever admit that there is still a small, quiet, but clear voice inside me that wonders how it could possibly be real?
How can it be real, when it sounds so much like a fairy tale - and we all know that fairy tales can never be real..?
How can someone with so much love to give - be the one person who never finds love, never becomes worthy of that most sacred bond? And I know what you're going to say. Believe me. But if it isn't true, then why, even when I give my whole heart, have I never been given the same amount of love in return? Or - even any love at all?
I was born with a very high tolerance for pain, and an uncanny ability to love deeply and fully with every bit of my heart.
I am half agony, half hope.
What a f*cking combination.