My fingers are dirty. I've been weeding my dad's gardens, just for something to do. I actually like it. There's a country gal for ya.
I want to talk to someone about everything going through my mind, but I feel like people will get sick of listening to me. I guess that's what blogging is for, hmmm? It's hard for me to listen to songs about love and guys unless it's a song like, "Bulletproof." Because when I do, I feel a small stab of pain in my heart. I know God's working on it, but I can still feel it. I want to see him, if only to see how he's holding up because I know this has to be hard for him too, but at the same time, I don't want to know. I want to email him, but at the same time, I don't want to contact him. I'm worried about next semester in the apartment, about how awkward it could potentially be. I know when I see him next, I'm going to want to hug him, and cry at the same time. Is it wrong for me to feel this way? All I need is a small trigger to put me into broken heart mode. I feel like I make no sense. But that's ok. I'm not writing this for anyone but me, as a way to get my feelings written out. Sure, we didn't spend a ton of time together, but I still cared, a lot. When we did spend time together, they were happy times. One of my only regrets is that we didn't spend more time together.
My mom just got back from the hospital. She has gauze in her nose to help control the bleeding, and there's gauze taped to her nostrils. Not a pretty sight. I just want my family to be healthy. When will the physical healing begin? When? I sense my dad's heart growing more and more bitter toward the world. When will enough be enough? These are questions that run through my mind daily. And God, I know You're the answer, but it's hard whe nthey won't even let You in, when they won't let me bring You in. It's heartbreaking.
On that note, I'm going to go weed some more.
No comments:
Post a Comment