When there's nothing left to burn,

Every Sunday I sit in the fourth pew of the sanctuary and just observe for most of the time. Mainly for the reasonable excuse that I really can't reach any of the high notes, so I don't bother reaching at all. Since I sit so far up front, my only real attention goes to the choir on stage. When they sing, their mouths are shaped in O's that sometimes seem like they're about to engulf some sort of airplane/spoon of peas. As the church sings and rejoices and praises I can't help but wonder what is really going through all of these peoples' brains. At church, I don't have to try to look for grief and despair, because it's so easily seen through weary eyes and rehearsed smiles. Everyone is fighting the hard battle the higher they sing up the gradient of notes. Everytime my eyes land on someone I make up some problem they're going through, and although made up, someone in the sanctuary must be going through something similar, I just know it: She's probably aching to go home to check her answering machine to see if her long lost son has called her, but chances are, she'll go home and find one new message from the telephone company telling her bill is overdue again. He's singing of peace when there's clearly no evidence that there has really ever been peace in his life, just grief. She's so overworked that all her work has no impact, no significance, no expectancy, and when she thinks about that small cramped room piled up with paperwork, she begins to ache all over. He's preparing to teach a sermon about everlasting love when in actuality, his marriage is so heart-numbingly loveless. I always go through a thought process of this sort every Sunday. I think it betters me as a person because it helps me loosen the grip in my handshake with most of these people because I know they're already going through something rough enough.

So often there will come along an interesting boy who'll try on my curiosity. It's funny because nine times out of ten they will leave without warning. No matter how rehearsed I am, their departures always come as a surprise. Every now and then there will be one who leaves with an explanation, but I cringe at their reasoning because although opinionated; they're probably true. I hate it when their explanations are even slightly sensible. But either way, explanation or no explanation, it doesn't feel good to be left with nothing to say. I find myself giving away twice as much as I receive in return and what a stupid mistake that is. This act of humility is consistent. Each time one of them decides to up and leave, it's almost as if they make sure that they take a part of me with them. And no, it isn't one of those cliche' scenarios where the boy takes a good piece of the girl's heart so he'll come back to retrieve the rest after being apart for so long. In my case, he takes some useless body part like my pancreas or the skin on the back of  my neck because none of them have been able to reach my heart yet. But they are bandits irregardless. All these boys, they come one at a time, they retrieve one body part at a time. It's exhausting and this feeling of betrayal is perpetual. And it's humiliating, because I never get over any of them really. Especially since one of them holds my pancreas. I move from one to another and I know that I'm searching in all the wrong places. I wonder where all this suppressed prostration is going because I know that eventually it'll build up into something I won't be able to sustain. Each time one leave I feel the same bitter feeling and almost instantaneously my eyes tie up like stunned seas. Each time one of them leaves the world around me gets tight and my frustration will build up into condensation. At which point the rain will probably begin to fall through the stunned seas, no matter how strong I claim to be. I'm really unhappy with how weak I am. That's the reason why I can't keep anyone for very long. I am too weak to be anyone's cure. I shove my feelings down people's throats in hopes that if I made them vulnerable enough, they'd stay. I tell every single one of them that I'd never let them hit the pavement, and I meant it each time. Because every single one has a different problem and I wrap my heart around each one of them because I had this idea that maybe they needed someone like me. I need to stop being so wrong all the fucking time. It scares them all away, how emotional I really am. I find the chest that contains my sensitivity and I give it to them in hopes that maybe if I did it first, they'd finally stop holding out on me. But I'm wrong again. I know I'm becoming insane because I do the same things over and over again expecting different results. I don't plan on stopping. I know it's a rabid idea but I thought that maybe if I go through enough body parts, all that will be left is my heart. After that it's just one more guy to go and he'll have to settle with nothing else but my heart.

Tonight my brothers have decided to spend yet another night in my room. Jacob has decided to sleep on my bed tonight while Daniel and I take the floor. So tonight, I'll write with them in here. My room is overthrown by darkness because it's 2:00 AM, the darkest hour of the day. Shadows are formed from the dim light of both our laptop screens. I never liked shadows, I always thought they created a more darker overcast to the room. How lucky am I tonight to have one laptop on opposites sides of the room. I decided I'd try to write tonight because I can't sleep, and who can offer up such a cliche' reason to write when it comes along? Today has been a long day. Hell, every day is a long day for me. I think about how my morning started and how long ago that felt, then I begin to wonder how I even manage to make it through one solid week after one solid week. I replay conversation after conversation in my head. I think about how many faces I've looked at and how many I've really seen. I retrace the steps I've taken today. I retrace them again. You'd think I'd be in shape. My breathing is so soft at this hour of the day and my pulse is faint. I cringe at the thought of sleeping on the floor tonight. I hate taking the floor. No time for sacrifices, I'm making Jacob take the floor. It's my room anyway. My skin is tight around my bones and they're priority is to pinch my bones until they're dry. My hair feels good against my face. The smell of my shampoo is still secured tightly around the strands of my hair even after such a long day, just like the label promised. There's nothing like true advertisement. I feel sick and dirty. I'm on the run from a fever right now but these legs weren't made for running, who am I kidding. I rub my hand up and down my face to maintain consciousness when I realize that my face is ice cold. Strange. I don't feel cold, in fact I feel hot, feverish. I can't distinguish mental exhaustion from physical exhaustion or emotional exhaustion from mental exhaustion anymore. It all feels the same because I'm exhausted at all the same levels. Now that I've realized my state of exhaustion, it's time to retire into my already-warm bed. Damn, tomorrow's going to be a long day.

One thing I want to happen before I die is to receive a love letter. Nothing cheesy but something sappy. Something so very real and raw and beautiful. Even though I have yet to receive a one, love letters will always be romantic. But as pitiful as this may sound, I've written quite a few love letters  in the past few years but I never sent them. I kept them until I threw them all away in anger, I wish I never did though. I remember writing some of them and how I felt when I wrote it. I don't think anyone receives love letters anymore, because the world is filled with so much technology. I don't ever want to receive a love message or a love text or a love email. I know that my fingers will slip and the messages will eventually be deleted. I want a love letter, written on an actual piece of paper, sent to an actual mailbox. I want to keep it and save it to read for when my love life seems utterly hopeless (which, if I had love letters, I would read now.) I wonder what mine would say. Something along the lines of, I'm sorry for making my mistake, it's been eight months since we last spoke but you are never far from my mind, would probably make my heart melt to my knees. Actions may speak louder than words but sometimes words are a powerful force to be reckoned with.

From the bottom of my heart, I wish you readers wouldn't tune this out just because this entry isn't about love, or lust, or some outspoken topic. It's actually about God.



There is so much I want to say that I've lost all my words. I don't want to preach to you, I just want to share with you how God is to me. You know, growing up I never really thought about my walk with God as of any importance. I always believed in him, but I always thought of that as enough. I just thought of going to church as a routine. But now I understand. I love God so much because he is so incredible towards me. He harbors an endless supply of grace and compassion and he will never turn his back on me. Even in my darkest hour, I am so grateful that he's sitting there right beside me. He will never give up on me or abandon me entirely. There used to be times when I was so confused about how God is capable of understanding what I'm going through when he's never been through it himself. Then I realized I was wrong, he has been through everything - but worse. He sent his son to this earth, and Jesus was tempted by the devil, beaten, and hung on a cross. Jesus was hung on the cross, nails pierced through his palms and his feet, to die for us - so that we can be forgiven over and over again. Jesus just didn't die for "good people" or the ones that believed in him. He died for every single one of us because he loves us so much. Regardless of our mistakes, or backgrounds, or lack of faith. It's taken me a couple of years to actually grasp that, but now I do. I am filled with happiness to have him in my life and all I want to do is bring him praise.





One of the hardest things to do nowadays is staying committed to being a Christian, trust me, I really do understand. If you just want someone to talk to about this, contact me via email: inhongwetrust@yahoo.com, and from there I can give you my number. I don't care what hour of the day it may be or who you are.