Prodigal

At some level, I trembled.

I did my very best to leave it unarticulated. To not put too much thought to this, this mass as it sank and twisted in the pit of me.

Again?

Still?

Worse yet, not daring to even put words to the twisted whisper,

always...

Is this what it feels like to choke?

I leaned a little further into the turn of my life, willing the surrounding scenery to speed and blur.

I wouldn't even know what to say.

To say I knew better would reek of inadequacy; An obvious, childish attempt to explain what should never have been.

How can I...

How could I...

And yet inexplicably, there it is, there He is... solid and unwavering caught half-visible before I squelch my eyes tightly against the sight.

It would have been easier to have been ambushed by a grotesque. After all, I am on speaking terms with the boogeyman these days.

Eyelash lines streak across the sliver of visible world as I risk another look.

He stands - a breath away.

It's not shock that catches me, that knocks out what is left in me.

It's confusion.

Why?

And the zephyr of a Hope, that had long been caught in the doldrums, lightening the dark mass of fear.

As He smiles - how can He smile? - this heart beats faster against a somehow too-tight chest.

And, just on the edge of articulation, I begin to understand the meaning of prodigal.

8/11/14

Why is it easier to plan for the disappointment? To expect the heartache?

Everything in me wants to run.

Wants to make contingency plans.

Wants to just plan for the sad, tragic, glorious end.

But I like it here.

And there's an inconvenient majority of me that wants to keep hoping