I wrote about a girl named Nora.
she was me and
I told the tragedy of my life.
and it sounds melo-
dramatic because it is, and yet
that’s what I did.
I wrote about gut-wrenching grief, and
sorrow, and guilt,
about imagined happy endings
and reality
as bitter and harsh as it seemed
to me.
seven years ago,
still seems so starkly present sometimes
those dreams still alive
and yearning for people and places
unavailable
so strings of past possibilities
snarl around spools of
present realities and it sounds
melodramatic
because it is, but that’s what I did.
and sometimes it’s hard
not to do what you’ve done forever.
seven years ago
I had no clue how much I would grow
or what I would try
to hold on to, or that I’d want to.
and seven years is
not as long as I thought it would be
so there is still grief
and dead dreams and guilt and some sorrow
but there’s still hope and
imagination for tomorrow.
If you had told me seven years ago that the burdens I carried were not only shared by God, but not necessary for me to carry at all...I would have believed you as I shifted the emotional weight around inside to make it more bearable.
I am where God has me today, and today I’m remembering the burdens, not carrying them. It all sounds so melodramatic, but in seven more years, I wonder what I’ll look back on and say “Oh...sweetie, if only you knew...” And I think that’s part of living. And those are my thoughts today.
