black coffee and late nights.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

I know I just posted saying I wouldn't be updating much since finals week is quickly approaching, but I'm done studying for the day, and I have a lot on my mind. Therefore, I write. Plus, I have a fresh brewed up of black coffee fueling my mind.

I am just human.

I cannot move this world by my own hands, or play the cards in my favor. That is clearly not up to me to decide. I have no power over the ultimate movings in my life, I have no gain nor loss when something disrupts my daily life.

I am just a human.

Lately, I've been reminded of that so much. Things have not been falling in my hands like I wish they would. I don't like it one bit, but I accept it. I can deal with housing mix-ups, friendships endings, and the constant wish for a less full-plate. There is a lot I can handle. And there is a lot I cannot. I say that meaning I, myself as a human cannot. For I know my God is one who will stand by me whenever I go through anything, but I am having trouble at the moment.

I'm in the process of writing a letter.

It's a letter that contains thoughts, feelings, ideas, wishes, and everything I've ever wanted to say. It's one that has been a long time coming, one which should have been sent (or better yet, simply said) much earlier, but timing is very important to me and I know it just hasn't been the right time. Until now.

It was two nights ago I started this story, and I'm exactly sure how I will finish it.

I pulled the fresh white sheet of paper out and onto my desk. I picked up my favorite pen, took a deep breath and began writing. The common greetings, the "how are you?" spilled out, and then I began to dig deeper. Into circumstances and events I wish I could have forgotten. Into a deep, dark place of my life I don't want to visit ever again. Into you, and into me, and into everything we had, still have, and maybe still might have in the future. Into the core. And that's where I lost it.

My heart twists and turns. It's uncomfortable in my chest. I can't write without shaky hands. I can't pen a word until I think about it over and over again in my head. I have trouble keeping my breathing straight and my head from dropping down and re-reading words I know I've already written. I am keeping the tears inside for fear of staining the paper and bleeding words that have already bled dry. I can't control these emotions.

I stand up, pace a bit and sit back down. I read the words over again and imagine you reading them for the first time. I know how I want you to feel, but I'm scared. I want to be the fly on the wall that observes your reactions as you unfold the corners of the pages and read the words I've never had the guts to say to your face. I want to read your face, see your smile when I write about the good times, and the pain when I write about the bad. I want to be there when you finish and see where you go from there.

But I can't.
And I know I shouldn't.
Which is why I chose a letter as the best medium to communicate these words.

I will finish this letter.
I will send it.
And then I will wait.

It will be up to you to finish this process, and hopefully we'll both come to see what exactly we are searching for. This letter will either close the final chapter for us, or open a fresh page for something new. I don't think things will ever stay the way they are right now. And perhaps for once, change is exactly what we both need.

"If I could write you a letter, and say the words I've been meaning to say, would it make you feel better if you read it? Would it possibly be okay?"

Respectfully submitted,