my memories. of her last days.
my body remembers uncontrollably.
these are my possessions, my riches, my hoard: my pain and my love for her.
i wish i had found the courage to tell her, to verbalise my love and care, to make them known with words also.
the unsaid festers and burns, and can be disposed of in no known way.
and there will be no knight in shining armour, with a claymore in hand, to waste me and take this heap of priceless pain, and turn that into a kingdom.
this is the weight of memory: to know what could be done, and to be unable to change what has been done.
or maybe, demons are playing with my hoard, throwing me back into the impossible, tormenting me with choices that cannot be made, undoing my sanity…if so, what is safe?
to embrace Christ, put my world in his hands, my collected pain in his saving death, the weight of my indecisons – in his clarity.
to allow his heart pierce my scales and heal me; to allow him to teach me the language of love and caring, so that i be not mute any more.
to trust that in him i shall meet her again when the time is complete.
how simple, yet how hard, is the hammer of love.