Reflection

181.

If the faith of a mustard seed could move a mountain, I would desire that faith and more.

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178.

I am irrefutably shy, in spite of possible bold first impressions and sporadic confessions of honesty, unwavering words and pinpoint clarity.

In a room filled with people gravitating in spaces not mine alone, it takes all of me to hold still and breathe. I am unable to understand how can one just co-exist in situations unplanned, in places new. Anchors I look for, to steady the tumultuous waves of my anxious heartbeat.

You are safe now, are the words whispered, is the hand that holds mine, are the eyes glancing quietly, is the folded origami crane before me.

And though I fear the impending darkness, I know that these things will keep me secure for a little longer.

175.

Not all secrets have to be filled with the weight of a drowned corpse, guilt hanging on the leg one cannot shake loose. I am accustomed to keeping sad things secret, but more so for the happy things too.

There’s something about preciousness that cannot be shared with others, lest beauty and wonder is lost. Don’t gain partial ownership or the ability to change it up, let it stay an unbroken memory for the cold days ahead. I am no fool, to leave a gem on the beach for the enchanting ocean to steal.

Call me selfish, and I will perhaps find no heart to deny — for sometimes we hold on so tightly until the insides of our palms make crescent cries. Take a look at what is photographed in quiet, the boundless whispers stalking across the mind. The things to immortalise.

I don’t know about you (if you exist), but for me? With numbers need not be told, I have stood in a place watching, hoping to remember for always.

168.

I am incurably poor in a world that never stops talking. This is how I keep up, seeking solace at the edges though some rooms persist in a cornerless round. Quiet the flutter which arrives like that of a frantic winged creature in a steel cage. Find a plain unsuspecting wall for the mind to draw shapes on.

Yet for you, why — I will make sure that this limited change lasts.

165.

While they say that time is a construct, it’s difficult to think of it that way.

Time zones have a way of dividing everything: geography, space, time, feelings.

While I’m struggling through today, you’re already one foot into tomorrow.

Time zones have a way of making one feel left behind.

minus seven; one year ago

154.

I remember being told that I’ll have a gift from that day onward, but know not what it’ll contain for years more.

Can it be folded? Is it fragile, does it come in pairs? Can it be seen or is it like the warmth you feel by a fireplace. Is it heavy, will it find strength to float in the throes of desperation? If I try to unpick it, will I find it empty.

How am I to decipher this item? Two years ago I thought of it to be mercy, but it would seem that 2018 tells me otherwise.

Let’s count in reverse, from ten to zero.

Know that this gift, be it revealed or not, should be used for His glory.

151.

Why me? he finally asks

And the other, why

Stood smiling, unnerving he

 

I am small and rudely insignificant

More sooner gone than here

The nuisance of a sandy grain left in the shoe

Dust upon dust crumbling

Remains buried in cold earth.

 

Why you? He replies

And the other, which

Hastily looked away from the Maker

 

Upon you I lavished love and stumbling affection

A mark remaining ages after

The refuge for the raging ocean

Masterpiece in the unlikely

The soil in which the beautiful grow.

 

Why me? he whispers in quiet wonder

And the other, He

Gently extends the nail-pierced hands as a gift to be received.