Have you ever felt Heaven? They felt Heaven. With every muscle of their being, they felt Heaven. Or at least a cheaper imitation. They'd devoted themselves to it. They'd vowed it, till death separated them.
They'd lied.
They hated each other now. One wouldn't have dinner ready on time, the other wouldn't clean the garage, and so they found cause to argue, to scream, occasionally to slam doors. These things wouldn't have been so significant, but they already hated each other and just needed any reason to show it.
They rarely spoke. They served each other's needs, but no longer cared about each other's happiness. They found no comfort in each other's arms, no intimacy in an embrace. They had lost the one quality which had brought them together: passion. They had no passion anymore. Not for each other, or for anything else. Life had drained them, and so they went their own ways.
It wasn't long before they both found solace and warmth in the arms of someone else. The timing was just right so that they could devote new energy to this newfound endeavor. But when they both woke in the morning, they were overcome with guilt.
Guilt. They knew the meaning of it, but now it was real, and eating away at their hearts. So guilty, in fact, that they couldn't even defend themselves from their own mental accusations.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I should mention that I'm saving these and compiling them so that at the end I can put them all together in a more fluid form. For now, though, I like this format.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Dramatis Personae (Part Drei)
Have you ever had a taste of Hell? It tasted Hell. Every time it lay down for a few moments rest, it tasted Hell. And felt it. And smelled it. The stench of burning, rotting flesh was nauseating. The heat was intolerable. The mournful cries and gut-wrenching screams were enough to drive it insane.
But it was too late for this creature. It had made its choice. It crouched in the shadows, waiting for its next victim to stroll innocently by. Then it would strike.
Its finger traced quiet designs in the sand as it waited. Designs that would strike fear into the hearts of any person that saw them. But for this creature, they were commonplace symbols- signs of identity and realism.
It saw one of the Others across the dark street, waiting for someone as well. The Other's light was blinding, so it looked away. But it had already been scalded. It opened one eye and pointed it back at the Other, glaring at its glorious graceful attire and sneering at its own dark filthy rags, if they could even be called that.
At first, it had felt guilty for its betrayal, part in parcel of the Ultimate Betrayal that had caused a full third of them to be Banished. But over time its heart had coagulated, then hardened, and was now a block of stone in its chest. It felt betrayed. It felt as if it deserved another chance. After all, all these creatures on this measly planet had been given a second chance. Why not those of the Realm? Why couldn't it be forgiven? It had been denied that privilege- nay, that right. Who was this ONE to claim control over everything anyway?
Rage.
It became a true slave to that feeling and at that moment swore on its own being that it would see justice. So full of rage, in fact, that it couldn't even see in front of its own nose.
________________________________________________________
As you may have noticed, I've started a trend here. It has a point; I promise.
But it was too late for this creature. It had made its choice. It crouched in the shadows, waiting for its next victim to stroll innocently by. Then it would strike.
Its finger traced quiet designs in the sand as it waited. Designs that would strike fear into the hearts of any person that saw them. But for this creature, they were commonplace symbols- signs of identity and realism.
It saw one of the Others across the dark street, waiting for someone as well. The Other's light was blinding, so it looked away. But it had already been scalded. It opened one eye and pointed it back at the Other, glaring at its glorious graceful attire and sneering at its own dark filthy rags, if they could even be called that.
At first, it had felt guilty for its betrayal, part in parcel of the Ultimate Betrayal that had caused a full third of them to be Banished. But over time its heart had coagulated, then hardened, and was now a block of stone in its chest. It felt betrayed. It felt as if it deserved another chance. After all, all these creatures on this measly planet had been given a second chance. Why not those of the Realm? Why couldn't it be forgiven? It had been denied that privilege- nay, that right. Who was this ONE to claim control over everything anyway?
Rage.
It became a true slave to that feeling and at that moment swore on its own being that it would see justice. So full of rage, in fact, that it couldn't even see in front of its own nose.
________________________________________________________
As you may have noticed, I've started a trend here. It has a point; I promise.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Dramatis Personae (Part Deux)
Have you ever hated your life? He hated his life. In the garden, the sun beating down on his bare shoulders, he realized that he truly despised himself for where he was. The sweat on his skin reflected the brightness of the day and he sneered at that, too. Nothing seemed bright. He plunged the shovel into the ground again and again, hoping to perhaps transfer some of his rage into energy and let it seep into the ground. His efforts were to no avail.
He stood, cringing at the muscles in his back that had locked in the bent-over position. Leaning on the long handle of his tool, he surveyed the large plot of land. Despite weeks of daily labor, he saw no beauty in the landscape he had laid out.
No beauty. Among the magnolia blossoms and cherry trees, among roses and daisies, among tiny forget-me-nots and exuberant koi, he saw no beauty. It was all dark, all dissipating before his eyes.
Though he tried to tell himself that he had chosen this path, it only served to increase his lividity. He clutched the shovel tightly, nearly losing his balance when the tears crept up to his eyes stealthily. He made an annoyed sound and wiped them away with the back of his hand. But they were insistent and finally his sat on his mound of freshly-piled soil and let them flow.
Like a bird built for flight in a wire cage, he yearned to be set free. Though he made life beautiful for others, there was no joy in it for him.
Sorrow.
He knew the true meaning of it at last. So sorrowful, in fact, that he couldn't even allow himself to mourn.
__________________________________________________________________
Without the hideous, there is no beauty.
Without the dark, there is no light.
Without Sorrow, there is no Joy.
"Although the sorrow may last for the night, HIS Joy comes with the morning!"
Without Suffering, there is no Peace.
----
After all this has past,
I still will remain
After I've cried my last,
There'll be Beauty from Pain.
Though it won't be today,
Someday I'll hope again
And You will bring Beauty from my Pain.
-Superchic[k]
He stood, cringing at the muscles in his back that had locked in the bent-over position. Leaning on the long handle of his tool, he surveyed the large plot of land. Despite weeks of daily labor, he saw no beauty in the landscape he had laid out.
No beauty. Among the magnolia blossoms and cherry trees, among roses and daisies, among tiny forget-me-nots and exuberant koi, he saw no beauty. It was all dark, all dissipating before his eyes.
Though he tried to tell himself that he had chosen this path, it only served to increase his lividity. He clutched the shovel tightly, nearly losing his balance when the tears crept up to his eyes stealthily. He made an annoyed sound and wiped them away with the back of his hand. But they were insistent and finally his sat on his mound of freshly-piled soil and let them flow.
Like a bird built for flight in a wire cage, he yearned to be set free. Though he made life beautiful for others, there was no joy in it for him.
Sorrow.
He knew the true meaning of it at last. So sorrowful, in fact, that he couldn't even allow himself to mourn.
__________________________________________________________________
Without the hideous, there is no beauty.
Without the dark, there is no light.
Without Sorrow, there is no Joy.
"Although the sorrow may last for the night, HIS Joy comes with the morning!"
Without Suffering, there is no Peace.
----
After all this has past,
I still will remain
After I've cried my last,
There'll be Beauty from Pain.
Though it won't be today,
Someday I'll hope again
And You will bring Beauty from my Pain.
-Superchic[k]
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Dramatis Personae
Have you ever sworn at God? She swore at God. In the rain, she stood, tears on her face mirroring the tears from the heavens. The wetness on the ground soaked into the knees of her jeans, but she didn't notice. She clutched at the air in desperation, shouting into the night as if there were someone to hear her. But she didn't really believe that there was.
Her voice drifted out in the darkness, the sound traveling for miles before finally dissipating in thin air.
Thin air. She knew that's all it was. But her heart was heavy and so she cried out nonetheless. If she had been an outsider watching the spectacle, it is likely she would have smirked snidely. Why would one cry out, if one believes there is no one to hear?
Desperation had built roots in her very being. She felt its clutches around her heart. It physically weighed on her; her chest felt like it would collapse under the pressure. The wails of her heart fell on an empty world- there was no one there but she. The rain was beginning to puddle on the ground as she rose and looked around with futility in her eyes. There was no point in looking around; there was nothing to see.
Alone.
The true meaning of the word collided with her for the first time. So alone, in fact, that she couldn't even talk to herself.
____________________________________________________________________
The purpose of life, we all agree, is to bring glory to God. But God does not depend on our lives to receive glory. It's icing on the cake.
We, however, need a personal purpose.
It is the sea that makes the sailor
And the land that shapes the sea
And I do not know yet what I am made of
Or all I may someday be
And it is the wood that makes a carpenter
It's the very tools of his trade
And it is love that makes a lover
And a cross that makes a saint
-Rich Mullins
Her voice drifted out in the darkness, the sound traveling for miles before finally dissipating in thin air.
Thin air. She knew that's all it was. But her heart was heavy and so she cried out nonetheless. If she had been an outsider watching the spectacle, it is likely she would have smirked snidely. Why would one cry out, if one believes there is no one to hear?
Desperation had built roots in her very being. She felt its clutches around her heart. It physically weighed on her; her chest felt like it would collapse under the pressure. The wails of her heart fell on an empty world- there was no one there but she. The rain was beginning to puddle on the ground as she rose and looked around with futility in her eyes. There was no point in looking around; there was nothing to see.
Alone.
The true meaning of the word collided with her for the first time. So alone, in fact, that she couldn't even talk to herself.
____________________________________________________________________
The purpose of life, we all agree, is to bring glory to God. But God does not depend on our lives to receive glory. It's icing on the cake.
We, however, need a personal purpose.
It is the sea that makes the sailor
And the land that shapes the sea
And I do not know yet what I am made of
Or all I may someday be
And it is the wood that makes a carpenter
It's the very tools of his trade
And it is love that makes a lover
And a cross that makes a saint
-Rich Mullins
Ready for the Storm
The waves crash in the tide rolls out
It's an angry sea but there is no doubt
That the lighthouse will keep shining out
To warn a lonely sailor
And the lightning strikes
And the wind cuts cold
Through the sailor's bones, through the sailor's soul
'Til there's nothing left that he can hold
Except a rolling ocean
I am ready for the storm
I'm ready for the storm
Oh give me mercy for my dreams
'Cause every confrontation seems
To tell me what it really means
To be this lonely sailor
And when the sky begins to clear
The sun it melts away my fear
And I shed a silent weary tear
For those who mean to love me
I am ready for the storm
The distance it is no real friend
And time will take its time
And you will find that in the end
It brings you me this lonely sailor
And when You take me by the hand
And You love me, Lord, You love me
And I should have realized
I had no reasons to be frightened
I am ready for the storm
-Rich Mullins
It's an angry sea but there is no doubt
That the lighthouse will keep shining out
To warn a lonely sailor
And the lightning strikes
And the wind cuts cold
Through the sailor's bones, through the sailor's soul
'Til there's nothing left that he can hold
Except a rolling ocean
I am ready for the storm
I'm ready for the storm
Oh give me mercy for my dreams
'Cause every confrontation seems
To tell me what it really means
To be this lonely sailor
And when the sky begins to clear
The sun it melts away my fear
And I shed a silent weary tear
For those who mean to love me
I am ready for the storm
The distance it is no real friend
And time will take its time
And you will find that in the end
It brings you me this lonely sailor
And when You take me by the hand
And You love me, Lord, You love me
And I should have realized
I had no reasons to be frightened
I am ready for the storm
-Rich Mullins
Saturday, March 24, 2007
One Life To Live
"I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country." -Nathan Hale, just before he was hanged for treason against the British Empire.
"I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!" -Patrick Henry, speaking to the Virginia house of Burgesses on March 23, 1775
What inspired these men with so much passion that they were determined to give everything, "And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor," for the cause that stirred them? How did they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were called to fight this fight, and not others?
How do we know when we are called to fight?
___________________________________________________________________
I've been thinking about symbols. Knights in the Crusades had banners with their family emblem, to identify themselves. Each male family member had his own sign. Fighter pilots painted an emblem on their fuselage, hoping for a legacy to follow.
What's your emblem? What would you paint on your plane?
Moreover, what's your nickname? Maverick? Iceman? Red Baron? How do you identify yourself to those who fight with you and equally to those who fight against you? What inspires courage and incites fear simultaneously?
When you go to war, what will your banner portray?
"I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!" -Patrick Henry, speaking to the Virginia house of Burgesses on March 23, 1775
What inspired these men with so much passion that they were determined to give everything, "And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor," for the cause that stirred them? How did they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were called to fight this fight, and not others?
How do we know when we are called to fight?
___________________________________________________________________
I've been thinking about symbols. Knights in the Crusades had banners with their family emblem, to identify themselves. Each male family member had his own sign. Fighter pilots painted an emblem on their fuselage, hoping for a legacy to follow.
What's your emblem? What would you paint on your plane?
Moreover, what's your nickname? Maverick? Iceman? Red Baron? How do you identify yourself to those who fight with you and equally to those who fight against you? What inspires courage and incites fear simultaneously?
When you go to war, what will your banner portray?
Monday, March 19, 2007
Analog
D asked for metaphors of people's life journey. Hers is the busy scurrying of an ant. My mom's is a tour of duty in military service. Mine is the flight of a bird. An albatross, more specifically.
The albatross is the bird with the longest wingspan (10-12 feet). It spends most of its life in the air, landing only rarely. That's because they suck at landing. They crash every time. For is bird, the process of choosing a mate takes several years but once chosen, the pair mates for life.
It's the most legendary of all birds, but one of the lesser known. Sailors considered it disastrous to kill an albatross; there are numerous records of ships being lost at sea when an albatross appears to guide the sailors to safe harbor. Sometimes the bird is referred to as the soul of a lost sailor.
The Wandering Albatross (one species of this rare bird) flies up to 550 miles a day, and spends more than 270 days a year in flight. It uses the wind as its motor and glides, going hours without beating a wing.
I'm a wandering albatross. I float along the horizon, eyeing those around. I land disgracefully when I finally do decide to come down to earth. Is my flight aimless? No: I seek fulfillment. But I'm never filled for long, so I must light to the skies again to seek another adventure, another experience more wonderful, another relationship more blessing. And while I soar, there is nothing but me and my Creator. And the comforting biting wind.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I love D. She's my bosom buddy; my kindred spirit. I can't imagine going into the mission field without her back here praying for me. She makes me feel so REAL. It's fun sharing blessings and struggles. My "core group" is her.
My counselor has asked me to keep track of how often I tell myself a certain lie: the lie that I'm not good enough. That I'm not worth it. Since she said that, I've been noticing that this LIE is pervasive in my life. In fact, it's foundational. It's (drum roll please)
Why I'll Always Be Alone, Reason III
"You get so down on yourself," my friend Ryan always says. I deny it, telling him that I'm just being honest. Realistic. I mean, check out the description by my picture. I'm pulling the classic undersell.
The problem is, I really don't see what's so great about me. I'm smart, but there are a lot of smarter people. I'm funny, but many people are funnier. I'm not ugly, but nobody's ever described me as pretty.
My view of myself gets reinforced by life experience. No one really cares about me, I think. Therefore when I meet someone from high school that doesn't remember my name, I assume it's because I'm forgettable. It doesn't occur to me that maybe that person was too stoned in high school to notice me.
It's a LIE. I know it! I don't WANT it to be true. I KNOW it isn't! But it still invades my thoughts and whispers in my ear, turning my insecurities into reality.
So why will I always be alone?
Reason III: If I don't like me, who else possibly can?
The albatross is the bird with the longest wingspan (10-12 feet). It spends most of its life in the air, landing only rarely. That's because they suck at landing. They crash every time. For is bird, the process of choosing a mate takes several years but once chosen, the pair mates for life.
It's the most legendary of all birds, but one of the lesser known. Sailors considered it disastrous to kill an albatross; there are numerous records of ships being lost at sea when an albatross appears to guide the sailors to safe harbor. Sometimes the bird is referred to as the soul of a lost sailor.
The Wandering Albatross (one species of this rare bird) flies up to 550 miles a day, and spends more than 270 days a year in flight. It uses the wind as its motor and glides, going hours without beating a wing.
I'm a wandering albatross. I float along the horizon, eyeing those around. I land disgracefully when I finally do decide to come down to earth. Is my flight aimless? No: I seek fulfillment. But I'm never filled for long, so I must light to the skies again to seek another adventure, another experience more wonderful, another relationship more blessing. And while I soar, there is nothing but me and my Creator. And the comforting biting wind.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I love D. She's my bosom buddy; my kindred spirit. I can't imagine going into the mission field without her back here praying for me. She makes me feel so REAL. It's fun sharing blessings and struggles. My "core group" is her.
My counselor has asked me to keep track of how often I tell myself a certain lie: the lie that I'm not good enough. That I'm not worth it. Since she said that, I've been noticing that this LIE is pervasive in my life. In fact, it's foundational. It's (drum roll please)
Why I'll Always Be Alone, Reason III
"You get so down on yourself," my friend Ryan always says. I deny it, telling him that I'm just being honest. Realistic. I mean, check out the description by my picture. I'm pulling the classic undersell.
The problem is, I really don't see what's so great about me. I'm smart, but there are a lot of smarter people. I'm funny, but many people are funnier. I'm not ugly, but nobody's ever described me as pretty.
My view of myself gets reinforced by life experience. No one really cares about me, I think. Therefore when I meet someone from high school that doesn't remember my name, I assume it's because I'm forgettable. It doesn't occur to me that maybe that person was too stoned in high school to notice me.
It's a LIE. I know it! I don't WANT it to be true. I KNOW it isn't! But it still invades my thoughts and whispers in my ear, turning my insecurities into reality.
So why will I always be alone?
Reason III: If I don't like me, who else possibly can?
Monday, March 12, 2007
Saturday
was a most amazing day. D came over and we spent the afternoon taking pictures. It's my grown-up version of playing Barbie, which I never got to do as a child. She's beautiful inside and out. When she talks about the guys she's dated I feel so pathetic. One. That's how many I've dated.
In the evening I went to a birthday party. The people there were a lot like me, most of them. There was one couple... I want to be them someday! SHE is a molecular biologist. HE is a downtown cop. I got to talk to her about the Salk Institute (where she works) and to him about the crime lab at the SDPD. They were amazing. Funny thing, though: they weren't Christians. Yet in the short time I knew them, they had the most loving, fun, and functional relationship I've ever seen. They bragged about each other (out of the other's earshot!). They told stories and made jabs and jokes and corrected each other. They were so content with each other but it was obvious that their relationship was anything but complacent.
No one but D ever reads this, so here goes my secret.
Why I'll Always Be Alone, Reason II:
You know that feeling where you just don't fit? You're a puzzle piece with nowhere to go in the puzzle. Some pieces seem to fit, but it's just not right. You walk into your own home and feel like a stranger. You get sick of jobs very quickly. You want to move every so often.
I believe that some people are meant to be vagrants. You remember those old cowboy stories about the lone man who'd wander into a town, change things for the better, and then ride off into the sunset? Why are there so many of these and yet we refuse to accept that today there can be people like that?
Back in the day, some of those different people (Call them deviants, vagrants, wanderers, whatever) chose to become renegades- icons of the culture. Robin Hood. The Lone Ranger. Zorro. Jesus. The list goes on. These people didn't stay in one place- they moved around, changed lives, shook things up, and went their way.
My secret dream has been to live on a boat. Ah, the solitude. You pull into a port here or there, do what you need to, and pull back out to sea. To see.
So why will I always be alone?
Reason II: I'm a vagrant. Who'll be willing to schlepp all over the place with me?
In the evening I went to a birthday party. The people there were a lot like me, most of them. There was one couple... I want to be them someday! SHE is a molecular biologist. HE is a downtown cop. I got to talk to her about the Salk Institute (where she works) and to him about the crime lab at the SDPD. They were amazing. Funny thing, though: they weren't Christians. Yet in the short time I knew them, they had the most loving, fun, and functional relationship I've ever seen. They bragged about each other (out of the other's earshot!). They told stories and made jabs and jokes and corrected each other. They were so content with each other but it was obvious that their relationship was anything but complacent.
No one but D ever reads this, so here goes my secret.
Why I'll Always Be Alone, Reason II:
You know that feeling where you just don't fit? You're a puzzle piece with nowhere to go in the puzzle. Some pieces seem to fit, but it's just not right. You walk into your own home and feel like a stranger. You get sick of jobs very quickly. You want to move every so often.
I believe that some people are meant to be vagrants. You remember those old cowboy stories about the lone man who'd wander into a town, change things for the better, and then ride off into the sunset? Why are there so many of these and yet we refuse to accept that today there can be people like that?
Back in the day, some of those different people (Call them deviants, vagrants, wanderers, whatever) chose to become renegades- icons of the culture. Robin Hood. The Lone Ranger. Zorro. Jesus. The list goes on. These people didn't stay in one place- they moved around, changed lives, shook things up, and went their way.
My secret dream has been to live on a boat. Ah, the solitude. You pull into a port here or there, do what you need to, and pull back out to sea. To see.
So why will I always be alone?
Reason II: I'm a vagrant. Who'll be willing to schlepp all over the place with me?
Sunday, March 04, 2007
The Beginning of a Series
Why I'll always be alone- Reason I.
I've been talking about how disenchanted I am with marriage as an institution and how often people marry the wrong person and are miserable. My counselor asked me to think about the kind of person I'd want to see opposite me in a marriage.
Tonight I met that person. Most girls end up marrying a man much like their father- not me. My dad is the polar opposite of what's attractive to me, personality-wise.
I've known this guy for a while now. Tonight it was made obvious to me- THIS is the type of person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
The problem is that he won't see me. I'll be a friend at best, and acquaintance more likely. But no matter my zeal for God or my sense of humor or my openness to conversation or my tendency to be REAL, I know the type of girl he'll go for.
Sweet, more quiet. Not quite as versed in the Scriptures or in apologetics as he is, but devoted to God and with a blind faith that supercedes all intellect. And quietly pretty.
I'm brusque, opinionated, educated, and probably someone who could challenge him in the deepest way. But banter is good when you don't have to live with the person. I can't change my personality so that this type of guy will see me. I'd be lying to him and, worse, to myself.
So why will I always be alone?
Reason I: I'm myself. Who but God can love that?
I've been talking about how disenchanted I am with marriage as an institution and how often people marry the wrong person and are miserable. My counselor asked me to think about the kind of person I'd want to see opposite me in a marriage.
Tonight I met that person. Most girls end up marrying a man much like their father- not me. My dad is the polar opposite of what's attractive to me, personality-wise.
I've known this guy for a while now. Tonight it was made obvious to me- THIS is the type of person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
The problem is that he won't see me. I'll be a friend at best, and acquaintance more likely. But no matter my zeal for God or my sense of humor or my openness to conversation or my tendency to be REAL, I know the type of girl he'll go for.
Sweet, more quiet. Not quite as versed in the Scriptures or in apologetics as he is, but devoted to God and with a blind faith that supercedes all intellect. And quietly pretty.
I'm brusque, opinionated, educated, and probably someone who could challenge him in the deepest way. But banter is good when you don't have to live with the person. I can't change my personality so that this type of guy will see me. I'd be lying to him and, worse, to myself.
So why will I always be alone?
Reason I: I'm myself. Who but God can love that?
Thursday, March 01, 2007
The Dream
No one ever reads this, so I feel safe in writing what I'm about to.
I dreamt last night about someone. I normally don't dream about people I know, but this is an interesting exception. I dreamt of a man I met through my Bible study- a man whom I admire. He was very sweet in the dream, moreso than he is in life. Then again, in life he never remembers my name. In my dream he definitely knew me.
I'm known for having action-packed dreams. This wasn't one. He and I were walking around, spending time together and having great conversations. Usually my dreams are very shallow as far as realism goes, but this one was vivid. When I woke, I could still feel the brush of his lips on mine.
This man came to my birthday party, but I'm not sure he knew it was for me when he came. He's always been very kind and cordial, but passingly so. He never remembers my name. He wanted to call me Susan or Caroline. Everyone wants to call me those two names if they don't know my real name.
This is the kind of guy that will end up with a trophy bride. I'm not a trophy. I'll never end up with someone like him; those guys don't go for me. They go for the girls that will look good on their arm. They don't want a relationship- they want an accessory.
This guy seems deeper than that to me (but I have been wrong before). He seems like a genuinely devoted Christian. But I'm just not pretty enough for him. I'm to raw and gritty And like Julia Roberts said, "Creme brulee can NOT be Jell-O."
Except I'm more like hot wings.
I dreamt last night about someone. I normally don't dream about people I know, but this is an interesting exception. I dreamt of a man I met through my Bible study- a man whom I admire. He was very sweet in the dream, moreso than he is in life. Then again, in life he never remembers my name. In my dream he definitely knew me.
I'm known for having action-packed dreams. This wasn't one. He and I were walking around, spending time together and having great conversations. Usually my dreams are very shallow as far as realism goes, but this one was vivid. When I woke, I could still feel the brush of his lips on mine.
This man came to my birthday party, but I'm not sure he knew it was for me when he came. He's always been very kind and cordial, but passingly so. He never remembers my name. He wanted to call me Susan or Caroline. Everyone wants to call me those two names if they don't know my real name.
This is the kind of guy that will end up with a trophy bride. I'm not a trophy. I'll never end up with someone like him; those guys don't go for me. They go for the girls that will look good on their arm. They don't want a relationship- they want an accessory.
This guy seems deeper than that to me (but I have been wrong before). He seems like a genuinely devoted Christian. But I'm just not pretty enough for him. I'm to raw and gritty And like Julia Roberts said, "Creme brulee can NOT be Jell-O."
Except I'm more like hot wings.
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