I'm sorry.
You told me life lived inside myself was a mere letdown, but I closed my ears and walked on by. Is it too late to be made well? If I ran into your arms, would you hold me tight or just laugh as you watched me fall? I can see why you would. After all, I haven't spent my time sending you love notes and thanksgiving hallelujahs. I don't even think my lips would know what to say. And this stained glass romance is a foreign culture compared to my lakes of sand. Will I ever find Water?
I didn't choose to be a prodigal-like vagabond, it chose me. At least, that's how it seems. But even as I begin to seek after white picket fences with words of love painted on them, I still see blank skies at night and no sun in the morning. And it hurts for me to imagine that I can't hold fast to hope, but instead, I tattoo ideologies of wishful thinking onto my bones [like they could wake up on their own].
Would you help me? Could you help me, even if it's just for a day? Will you still show me the open door? I hear it's beautiful inside this time of year - when the broken cry out on calloused kneecaps, seeking sanctuary.
Adding your comment:
omg this was amazing....
this is so beautiful...this broke my heart, but in a good sense. there are so many of my emotions and happenings in my life that lie naked in these lies. things that i've tried to push out of my mind so i could survive without all the emotional breakdowns. i couldn't possibly describe the deep thoughts this provokes....amazing.
