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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Things are a mess, not because they had to be but because familiarity outranks togetherness. Corner wall has cobwebs, the bed not made in months. Curtains taped over trapping any light out of the room. The shower handles rusted. The fans on high causing the peeling wallpaper to tear more. You can't see the floor and the light switch doesn't work anymore. Although it's most comforting this way. Any mirror has been shattered and the dripping of the sink runs red from the stained above shattered mirror. The smell of pine and despair flows through the air of this non-ventilated room. I take pictures down of the people I'm just a memory to now. The time is always 12 after 3:16. That time significance holds deeply only to the understanding of grief. My hands bandaged up, my eyes swollen, my knees weak. The glass bottles half empty from my tears of yesterday. I decided its time, as I walk across the dark room, accidentally knocking over one of the halfway filled tear stained bottle. To my shock a sudden River flowed. Watching as if I'm no longer in the room, washing away were the curtains, a light beaming through and I could do nothing but be still. Almost like something decided this for me. The water washing away the rust, clearing the cobwebs. I can see the floor now, the wind knocked the window open causing air to make its way through. Just outside the window I see an array of colors, a rainbow in December? The sound of my phone buzzing from the people hanging on my wall. How long have I not been breathing? Stuck in the state of Sorrow so strong I made everything around feel the exact same. Even the mirror stitched together at the seams. My eyes no longer swollen, faint scars on my hands, my knees completely give out as I fall down on them. The smell of fresh cut grass and wood flowed through the window. It's all happening against my will and to my utter shock. As the last of the water flowed through the deepness of my heart. I hear a defined ding, it can't possibly be right? Nevertheless i walk up and dust the clock off, time reads 1 after 3:17. A lack of understanding of what just occurred a thought lingered. This is the work of God. For how else can the crippling paralysis of my pain, become put in such a movement of my own tears dumped onto the broken canvas that is my heart, completely be washed and made new? where I am not stuck and all is healed In this moment? The room shows light and a sense of freshness, something almost pure. The ones have filled tear bottles are now full, bed made in a sense of peace in that moment God healed me. The lack of a full heart to see him before was just that, lacking. Lacking a heart without God's love in it. Things were a mess, not to say that they won't be again, but now knowing God outranks any Earthly pain.
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