A Cathedral of Deadbolts

I’m not able to express what I need to. It just won’t come. This is the norm for me in many areas of my life. And for that, I’m so sorry.

I’ve been sitting here listening to the beautiful melodies of piano, violin, and guitar, wondering at this restlessness inside me. Then my eyes were blurred with tears that told me what my heart had been screaming for weeks. I turned off the station and gave ear to the soft laughter of the boys of baseball, carried to me on a cool, gentle breeze, laden with the songs of birds and a hint of ballpark dust. It’s a balm to my burning, tormented soul. I have done what I told myself not to do so quickly…to feel so much. And now I’m afraid. Why can’t I stick to my own damn rules? Why must I start picking at these walls I’ve so painstakingly constructed?
Was it his eyes? Our first kiss? The weeks of messages back and forth? The feel of his arms around me? Skin on skin? Oh God, how I need him! Air for my lungs. Water to slate my thirst. So hungry for him…as if I’ve fasted for weeks. He satisfies me, sustains me. Compels me to utterly crave him and submit to him.

I recently read this quote by Rachel McKibbens. It’s from her “Letter from My Brain to My Heart”. It sort of describes the condition of my heart before I met him. “You have my permission not to love me; I am a cathedral of deadbolts and I’d rather burn myself down than change the locks.”

I was recently given a white rose bud…closed…with thorns. They said it made them think of me. Beautiful but closed, with thorns to keep myself protected. I think this was an accurate description of me…well, except for the beautiful.

I am coming undone. Losing my grip on my resolve. My walls are tumbling and I am falling down trying to catch the crumbling pieces and putting them back in their rightful places.

However, I’m also considering changing the locks….and giving him the key. Trusting him only.


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