“Church”

Loneliness is within her. Wherever she goes, it follows.

She lays in bed too long on Saturday morning. She gets ready and steps outside,  breathing in the icy air, watching the bright sun blind the city. She warms her insides with the city’s best coffee, and spends the last of her “leisure” cash on a syrupy pancake breakfast that’s too much to finish on her own. She walks for hours, taking pictures of anything she finds interesting because it passes the time. She smiles at every stranger who passes her way, wondering if they’re lonely too. She sits on a bus for its whole route and reads from a Book.

She shops for groceries on her own and pretends it’s a performance of how best to look “okay.” She cooks and eats whatever she wants, because it’s dinner for one, again. She throws her socks across the room because there’s no one to object. She wraps in multiple blankets when there’s no one to hold her. She spends the night sitting on the balcony watching the stars, wondering…

Sunday morning she greets the church and feels the best she’s felt all week. The loneliness seems smaller. She remembers Who’s with her. She knows this is temporary. She knows it’s a season.

Peace is within her. Wherever she goes, it follows.

He’s the hope she carries in each step. He’s with her on Saturday morning, in that quiet, undisturbed space, listening to her thoughts. His evidence is in the winter air and blinding sun. He’s the cozy feeling of comfort she gets when she drinks her coffee. He walks with her and smiles at her through strangers’ eyes. He speaks to her through the words of the Book she reads on the bus. He sees through her performance as she attempts to look “okay,” and knows the longing within her. He doesn’t mind what she cooks or how many socks she throws across the room. Unlike the blankets, He holds her all the time. He looks down from his garden of stars and sees exactly where she fits in His plan. And on Sunday, He reminds her she’s not alone.

The Spirit is within her. Wherever He goes, she follows.

“Souvenirs”

The music’s loud and it’s exactly what she needs. The soundwaves mute the pounding of her heart in her throat and the crowd makes her comfortably numb. Before the breakdown there’s a melody and it replaces all the fear with supernatural power. The louder, the better and she’s realizing what a mess she was before today. She’s got a heart that follows breadcrumbs into dark houses full of nightmares and killjoys, and eyesight too weak to see the warning signs along the way. But she won’t be defined by these souvenir panic attacks over tiny letdowns that trick her into believing her entire world were about to crumble apart, leaving sinkholes and lava streams across her soul planet. How tormented is the love that fears you’ll kill it and still walks beside? How many chains does it take to bind a romantic heart to keep it from its own self-destruction? But she doesn’t want a brick wall heart. How loud does the music have to be before the vibrations demolish the weakness for good? All this moment is doing is revealing her true motives and her reckless naivety terrifies her. She believes the best and it’s been the death of her countless times before. Clockwork. Some days she’s going out of her mind, and all the steps she takes to get to her goal seem futile. She looks ahead but each step is really her walking up the down escalator into this person she was that she never knew could exist until now. Future, past, present. A cycle. None of this makes any sense to you or her, but how can you describe the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that lingers despite your efforts to fill it with life? There’s a void and she’s the best at reminding herself it’s there. “I am my own worst enemy.”