once in a while...or probably more than once in a while...i fall apart and beg the lord to help me put the pieces together
and for a sign
just a sign that i'm doing the right thing. or the wrong thing...or that he's listening...anything to make me feel less alone int his world.
i remember my sophomore year i cried...i sobbed to the lord after years of running from him. i used to dream scripture. i'd be pulled awake with verses in my head or my heart that i had to look up...and i'd read them and sometimes they'd make sense...sometimes they would be exactly what i wanted to hear and sometimes exactly what i needed to hear and sometimes nothing that i wanted at all...i'd send them to my mother or my sister if i felt it applied to them rather to me
but i guess after all my running i lost the road back to those days when answer came quickly and easily
so i cried that night. wrapped up in a field of blew comforter praying out my window for help.
please...i can't do it anymore...i can't do this anymore...i'm done. just
send me him. send me my husband...please, lord. please
i had forgotten about that prayer months later after returning home. remaining in a lackluster relationships that had no complaints other than the fact that i didn't even think of loving him and a met this guy who i wasn't even interested in looking at twice...but it was nice to have someone think nicely of me...
i remember this story like it yesterday. a minute ago. right now...i don't know. i remember getting dressed. i remember getting int he car. i remember my purse on my knees and my hands in my lap and looking at him and thinking over the explosion of music assaulting my sensibilities
i'm not even slightly interested in this guy
and i looked out the window and the truck speeding past and i heard you. i felt you. words whispered in my ear as if your chin was wresting on my shoulder in an embrace
thats it. 2 word. 2 words that brought back years of memories. or being a little girl in a purple room and my mother telling us to pray for our husbands just as her mother had told her to...and being too young to understand to ask for security and happiness and wealth a prayed for a name.
Lord, please let my husband's name be cory.
who knows why i came up with that. probably an early infatuation with Boy Meets World. Maybe I wanted what Topanga had...who knows...but who would have known decades later I would remember that moment sitting in a car next to a complete stranger. i remember him looking at me and the little smirk just on the edge of a smile that he sent my way and that was it
i told him that story once. a year ago...during one of out many battles where we broke up and got back together. he had his own moment too. when he freestyles with his cousins a year before meeting me...but described every detail he never knew about me...he just knew...
and maybe that's why we always acted the way that we did with each other. Because it didn't matter. IF this was what was meant to be...then it would be. it had to be
but i wouldn't let it.
and he wouldn't let it.
and now its over.
sometimes i just have to write out what i've been thinking...so please ignore my constant complaints...i'm really not this bad in person. its just moments that a realize how much has changed...and how it shouldn't have if we were mature enough to handle what we had
and in my heart i keep saying i'll wait. i think i've always been waiting. sabotaging everything else in a th desperate attempt to keep what i lost...and i'm mad that you didn't do the same thing
but back to the point.
last night i asked for a sign
if i should go to germany or if i should stay
if i should wait or if i should move on
if it was meant to be...is meant to be...because you promised him to me...or if its over
after all the times i asked for signs to prove that i should leave...and each time i was given one that i ignored until i couldn't ignore them any longer
and then i let go. over something so trivial it seemed a joke...but it was the last moment i could stand.
but now i came back. and i ask for a sign. any sign...a punch in the face. a slap on the wrist. anything to show me which way to turn at this point
and this morning there was a bang.
and my mother ran into my room asking what his the house and what was that noise. i sleepily told her it didn't sound like something hit the house, but that something fell
i dunno. and i kept slowly getting my feet under me and find a way to get out of the house in a reasonable time to make it to work waking up at the time i should already be at the metro...but having fell asleep at 5 the day before and waking up at 10 with not even an ounce of sleep in my mind. ranting to christeenna for hours and watching So You Think You Can Dance reruns and my favorite Dancing with the Stars until my eyes began to close on their own accord
and as i ran down the stairs to leave i saw a frame peeking behind the couch and i called to my mother to tell her the bang wasn't something hitting us...but rather the picture had fallen off the wall
she came down. surprised at which picture it was. a panoramic baptismal painting. one of the survivors from our old life which has been hanging on the same nail since we moved in 5 years ago.
The nails had disappeared all together. the picture wasn't broken. just fell. slid behind the couch as if it had chosen a new place to reside
hmmm...thats strange. maybe its a sign that its time to move...
she said more to herself than anyone else. and i just stood there...
i listened and tried to understand. and took it as a piece and hoped to get the whole...and hoped the rest of the answers would be what i wanted to hear as well.