Dear Lord (and whoever else is listening.)

Ah, self-meditation, I have not visited here for quite some time. Its amazing how I can smile so honestly and hurt so deeply at the same time. Or maybe it would just be teenage drama inflating a molehill. Still, any perspective would be clouded by bias. I shall not burden you with mine.

For some time I have been writing in this, filtering what I said for who I thought might be reading. I will do this no longer, at least not right now. If anywhere, here I should be able to say what I will.

Deep thinking sparked by a conversation, not the first time either. If I could just pinpoint the emotion that makes my ears burn and my cheeks flush. . . Is it fear? Willing my fingers to move in time with my thoughts is becoming quite difficult. How much am I willing to share? It is much easier to write of trivial things than of solid/true things.

I had been feeling so dead, like the surface of a lake not touched by a single ripple. I had much rather toss and roar in a storm than hide dangerous secrets beneath an inky surface, lest my heart grow cold.

And in my teenage desire and fear to place my heart in someone else's hands, I hadn't realized that I wasn't ready for that. (I railed against you, screamed, cried, and fought, and all the while you already knew. Silly child, cannot see beyond today.)

I resolve then, to trust in you. I have given my heart to you so many times, just to wrench it back at the fist thought of. . . but today, it shall be yours again. "When I got tired of running from you . . . "

Dissonant thoughts, but I am used to this current. Sweep me away in your melody.