Veins.

Contradiction is spinning in silly little circles around me. As I am consumed into this whirlwind of feeling everything around me, He wraps His arms around me, too. It's strange. I am in this state of mind that isn't my state of mind and yet I feel this warmth from Yahweh. This certainty that time will heal all of these open wounds. The hum of my fan and the fullness of my belly remind me of how blessed I am.

I am trying to weave my way back into my own story. The one with meaning...not the one I'm living. The pointless 'Waiting For Godot', if you will. I am waiting for something that I will never receive. Closure. That is all of what the play is about. Not getting closure...which is such an obscure yet beautiful thing. I am a slave in the play...I get beaten, kicked, and spit on. I am literally on a rope as the rubbish of my life is set before the audience. I dance and they laugh. I think and they listen...but I say nothing.

I keep remembering him. The way he looked at me, and the places he took me. It's always in this season that I think of him most. But I can only look ahead at the crooked path in front of me, instead of the shit path behind. Life's what I make it. Duh. I just gotta do this. Life is more than this. Life is so much more. God.