It’s 4:30 in the morning. Don’t worry, I have’t stayed up all night. I have only gotten about 3 hours of sleep though, but that’s okay too. It’s been a while since I’ve put anything here. I’ve been writing furiously lately, working on a story that I started back in January. Thirty and a half chapters later, it’s still lacking a title and an ending, but that’s okay. It will come.
There are some people I have often called angels. They come and go, in my life, but have left a certain mark, an impact. They are never forgotten. They have extended grace, and my existence, just a little while longer. They have believed in a strength that lies somewhere deep inside of (yet often unbeknownst to) me. I would be remiss if I were ever ungrateful for them, for their faith in me. My life is not my own, because I haven’t made it this far. This life is the grace of God, the gift of angels, who’ve carried me further than I’d ever have been able to walk by myself, on my own two feet. It is not a curse to be carried, no weakness or shame. It is a blessing. It is mercy. It is love.
There are two more than friends, closer than angels, each who I’ve known less than a year and have never met in person. Strange, but the truest things often are. I talk to them daily, or nearly so. Somehow we’ve managed a connection in an easy way. The conversation is simple because it’s honest, but that doesn’t mean it’s boring by any means. No, the conversation is silly, it is thought-provoking, it is heated. It is riddled with angst. It is desperate. It is encouraging. The thing about soul twins is that they get you. They know what you need to hear, read, see, feel, question–sometimes consciously, often times not.
One of my soul twins gave me an incredible gift tonight. In fact, I would gladly say that he gave me several. Next month will mark a year of me knowing him, if I’m not mistaken. I would call him a mirror twin–where I downplay and minimize, he has the ego of a dragon; I am lazy in social interaction and do my best to avoid it while he eagerly thrives on it. Despite our differences, we are very much the same, underneath. We balance each other out, but we also understand each other’s struggles because, in a way, they come from the same place. And when we are lost and drowning in the chaos of this world, we can find each other there–on our own island, sometimes fighting the waves and other times resting on the shore, until we have the strength to swim, to sing, again.
Dragon left me a message in a bottle, something for when I finally came to from the exhaustion of sputtering and suffocating on the waves. I had the luxury of two tears before finally closing my eyes. Only two, one from each eye. Considering the anxiety and stress I’ve been trying to manage lately, it provided enormous relief. I didn’t sleep long–maybe three or four hours. From then it was tossing and turning, lying still and staring at the ceiling, fidgeting with witching-hour boredom. Finally I grabbed my computer and notebook and headed downstairs.
I only opened this for the previous post that I wrote–two lines that ran through my head over and over before I managed the small bit of sleep that I did. But I saw that he had written a new post, and so I read it. And I cried. More than two tears, more from being overwhelmed than exhausted, more out of gratitude than lament. Just a simple poem. I frowned as I read through it, heart catching the meaning before my mind did. I knew these metaphors. These images were my therapy. I had heard the melody of these lines before. I got to the end and read it again. And a third time.
I doubt I will get back to sleep tonight, but my soul is already at rest. In writing a poem, Dragon gave me space. He gave me a chance to let go, to lose and find myself in the words we both claim as our own. When I scroll through all my contacts and consider everyone I could talk to and choose to close myself off, selfishly clinging to the weights of my world, he left something for me to trade it for. He gave me a chance to be human–to fall, to bleed, to heal. And somewhere in all of that, there was a chance to love and be loved, a chance to be carried, a chance to have hope. Like titles, brighter moments and the strength to carry on will come. All things do.