When you see too much of life in one short window of time, your want to story tell starts to become crippled and tired. I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but there’s such a thing as too much beauty on the heart of watching wanderers like me. Every moment I catch a subject presenting to the universe the miracle that’s their subtle design, my heart starts to flounder in its pace, and I just feel pain.
And I lose words. Every face I see, and every emotion they evoke leave me in stunned, tearful silence. I’m washed against the hopelessness of it all. I’m tired of wishing to be part of what I so excruciatingly observe, of what many fail to see, of all those souls I just see through, and all those feelings I experience on behalf of others; others who either don’t feel them fully, or who are so naturally candid it doesn’t even cross their minds.
I ask my father to pray for me, for I really can’t take it anymore. My words are too heavy on my chest they’re forming lumps in my throat and drenching my inside with tears. I never knew beautiful people could ever make me that miserable. I hate that. I just do.
And you know what. I don’t feel like writing about it, or even letting it out to anyone anymore. I want to cave in again, in a warm shady corner of mine, and take a break from happenings. Silence of the mind causes quietness of the heart.
Or someone. Someone who’d just be with me. No talk, no precedences, no events, no blabber or clamor, just them. Them.
God how much I need that. Ya Allah, I know I deserve nothing, but even that only you can so wisely give with grace.