Z
For years Ive wanted to write and write, and so I have; but never like this. Its good and different and bad all the same. But I dont care so I digress.
What I really want to know is if people trust me. I always assumed it was so, but I heard him whispering to her for hours and he hasnt whispered to me at all. Theres something hes not telling me; something hes scared to tell me. Not because its about me, I know its not about me. (Of course I leaned in to listen to their whispers. I pretended to write and murmer over my own words but really I strained to hear his.) But I think he doesnt trust me, and thats why he hasnt told me.
It hurts, this new revelation. I thought we were the best of buds; flowers that had bloomed together and both loved the suns warmth. But I guess I was wrong. He doesnt trust me with This, same as I havent trusted him with That. (I probably never will.) I suppose I deserve the situation.
Im sure that what he wont say is a broken promise. Something he swore in front of me (or might as well have), for Him, that is now no more.
I know the feeling well, though I might not look it. Its like sticking your finger down your throat for pleasure and then lying on the floor in your own bile and wondering why you would ever do such a disgusting thing. And then sometimes you get back up and do it again: sinful amnesia. Of course hes only just begun again, he hasnt gotten to the bad part yet... he hasnt remembered yet. He doesnt want to remember.
There was a small old janitor lady in the airport the day we got back from Michigan. She sat a few chairs away from us and cried over her garbage can. I wanted to go over and sit right next to her, put my hand on her shoulder, pray for her. My feet itched to walk to her. Every part of my body ached to go to her but my mind -such a stubborn, timid, selfish mind!- held it back. Of course He wanted me to pray for her, but my being was self conflicted. And before I could make up my mind (or tell my mind to shut up and do the right thing) the lady was shuffling away, leaning on her trash can. It tore me apart, knowing what I had not done.
For years Ive wanted to write and write, and so I have; but never like this. Its good and different and bad all the same. But I dont care so I digress.
What I really want to know is if people trust me. I always assumed it was so, but I heard him whispering to her for hours and he hasnt whispered to me at all. Theres something hes not telling me; something hes scared to tell me. Not because its about me, I know its not about me. (Of course I leaned in to listen to their whispers. I pretended to write and murmer over my own words but really I strained to hear his.) But I think he doesnt trust me, and thats why he hasnt told me.
It hurts, this new revelation. I thought we were the best of buds; flowers that had bloomed together and both loved the suns warmth. But I guess I was wrong. He doesnt trust me with This, same as I havent trusted him with That. (I probably never will.) I suppose I deserve the situation.
Im sure that what he wont say is a broken promise. Something he swore in front of me (or might as well have), for Him, that is now no more.
I know the feeling well, though I might not look it. Its like sticking your finger down your throat for pleasure and then lying on the floor in your own bile and wondering why you would ever do such a disgusting thing. And then sometimes you get back up and do it again: sinful amnesia. Of course hes only just begun again, he hasnt gotten to the bad part yet... he hasnt remembered yet. He doesnt want to remember.
There was a small old janitor lady in the airport the day we got back from Michigan. She sat a few chairs away from us and cried over her garbage can. I wanted to go over and sit right next to her, put my hand on her shoulder, pray for her. My feet itched to walk to her. Every part of my body ached to go to her but my mind -such a stubborn, timid, selfish mind!- held it back. Of course He wanted me to pray for her, but my being was self conflicted. And before I could make up my mind (or tell my mind to shut up and do the right thing) the lady was shuffling away, leaning on her trash can. It tore me apart, knowing what I had not done.
