The Banzai Chronicles

All day long I felt the emotions under the surface, knowing they were coming, wondering when they world break through and reveal themselves in tempestuous, overwhelming fury. I enjoyed the peace while I had it, a tentative, temporary calm. But eventually I stopped enjoying, stopped resting, ran to distractions and played with less-wild lovers. Finding no sustenance there, it kicked in: I proceeded to confirm my gnawing suspicion and face a hard, forseen reality. I am too curious, too perceptive, and too thorough for peace to last sometimes.

I don't write to judge reality, or God forbid, to judge Him. It is simply difficult to live with. Past arrows form a chorus with present ones (and future ones— another story), whispering and shouting a message of pain and insecurity. That message is a lie, even though the wounds are real. Though I think I weep alone, I do not. Because a path is hard does not mean it shouldn't be followed. He is in this. Trust Him.

It's just so hard.

Afterward, I read some poetry online, though I knew it would only make it worse. It was instead a strange comfort. Not sure whether to be thankful or concerned about that; for now, I'll take the comfort. A presence, even if a ghost. If anyone knows ghosts, it's me.