It's lonely in here, with no sound except the echoing of my own voice inside my head. Telling me to keep going, to rise above, to let it go. Making deals with God and pleading to know why. Why has this played out in such a way that leads me to this busy and bustling, yet incredibly lonely, road. It's so loud I want to scream, and there is no one around to calm me down.

"It's just you and me again I guess," I say to God, "the way it ends every time." 

"Exactly the way it is meant to be," he whispers back. "Keep reading, take it a page at a time. This book gets so good." 


Madi said...

mmmmmm. I cant stop reading this.

Cap said...

I read this and wanted to write something about it... so here's what I wrote...

To the Lonely

Her child—
not walking—
chews on her dark hair
as she looks down
and speaks on how lonely
she really is;
how loud it all really is;
how uncertain it all
really is.

We look to God in stars,
and in ants
and in the words that fill
the space in between.
And looking down,
at her child,
neither a star, nor an ant,
and lonely, like God
she speaks and
hears nothing,
because her God is lonely
with her.