Not all words are meant for publication.
Words like these that come at the urging of melatonin and a cup of chamomile tea usually find their way into my journal, but not onto my blog screen.
Maybe these will. Who knows.
Who knows how to navigate this long, strange corridor of a queen bed for one?
What’s the remedy for how to adequately express the words in my head, aloud, when no one will hear them and laugh or sigh or contribute some of their own?
My journal won’t do. It doesn’t speak or express or feel.
Neither the screen.
Nor the silence around me.
What do you do with a giving, unconditional love no one will receive?
How many years should I keep reaching out in the dark, hoping to find a hand to hold, but none is there?
Perhaps these sleep-aid induced ramblings should file themselves away like good soldiers – single-file – left, right, left – back into my mind.
But for all my questions and inquiries, I know for sure that prayers pass through tissue and brain matter, past heart muscle and wall spackle, and reach the ever ready ears and mind and heart of God.
And I know one day I’ll reach my hand out and find one to receive mine. And I know it won’t be long. And I know without a doubt it will have been worth the wait. And I know the waiting will have prepared me for one who is also praying and hoping and reaching out in the dark for the amazing love stored neatly in the storehouses of my heart.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who ever has these thoughts.
I just know I can’t be the only one…