& another thing.

I am so heartbroken and hurting right now, as if there's someone to blame beyond the face in my mirror. As if there's some kind of understanding for such wordless passion and raging idiocy. I feel like a lunatic, a short skirted deceiver with broken toys and cracked skin. I feel like a no good thing of the past and the future, caught up in the indecency of preaching on the present. My own babblings are somehow methodical, with God somewhere in the middle... with a true lover inbetween. I find God breathtaking, and so real that it hurts to breathe. Even a hint of the thought of a life somewhere apart from Him seems like emptiness. How do brokenhearted lovers look at the freedom of His passionate pursuit to be a prison? What is this unforgiving portrait they have painted? What signature is forged to confuse this warm flame and gentle breeze for cracked whips and stifling chains? What imagined law have we bound ourselves to? They sit in the belly of their cells, clanging at the ribs and staring out the throat of the monster thinking themselves to be on the outside looking in.


What keeps a heart from breaking for these things?