Resolution = keep this blog updated a bit more.
All who are thirsty
All who are weak
Just come to the fountain
Dip your heart in the stream of life
Let the pain and the sorrow
Be washed away
In the waves of His mercy
As deep cries out to deep
Glenn Robertson Brenton Brown
11:59pm 12-31-07She's leaving. There's no stopping her. I don't know if I would, even if I could.
There are two of us here, even when I'm alone. We amble through the rooms and rarely speak to one another. We're alike in many ways; both selfish and sentimental.
She's taking down decorations and packing everything in sight. I follow behind her, rummaging for my most cherished possessions. I beg her to stop and reconsider. She refuses to even ponder my request and claims there are no options.
She laughs, while things fall out of my grasp and back into the storage tub abyss.
She goes about her business--gathering her trinkets and wadding my emotions into airtight bags. I can hardly breathe. I sit. I stand. I go through the motions. My feelings are ambivalent.
Go. Get outta here. You were a nuisance, anyway.
She zips another bag.
Stay. We've yet to change the world. Couldn't we try harder?
There's defiance in her eyes, and she speaks in abrupt audacity.
My time here is done and we both know it. You didn't, or wouldn't, learn near what I wanted to teach you. You missed opportunities that may come back to haunt you. You followed no one's rules, not even your own. You hurt feelings and played silly games. You harbored bitterness and held out little hope for your own dreams. Your faith dwindled and you didn't even care. I gave you countless chances to mend and search for answers, but you were too busy being busy.
She loads the last bag and slams the lid. She refuses to look at me anymore, as she heads for the door. Her heels click clock across the floor. I wait for the stoic gong, but hear my own voice instead.
It's not fair. You didn't grant me an extra hour in my days. There were times I wanted you to stop so I could linger in my selfishness. You kept moving. Whenever I demanded a slower pace, it seemed as if you picked yours up. I WANTED to be different--to change--but you had your agenda and I had to abide. I'm so fed up with you--you and your stringent timeline. Go. Good riddance. I have something you don't. I've got a new opportunity and I'll not screw up this time. I can change, you'll see. I've committed to a brand spanking new schedule and I've promised to behave. I'll relish every prospect and I'll work hard on my dreams. I'll mend my mistakes and cherish every moment. Most importantly, your leaving has given me the determination to rekindle my Main relationship.
I notice a slump in her shoulders as I finish my rant. She reaches into one of her suitcases and hands me a bag with my name on it. And then she speaks--er--whispers for the last time.
"I hope you're happy now."
For a moment, I just stand there and stare. I can't believe she is gone. Then, with new resolve, I make myself a cup of tea, curl up on the sofa and open the bag to reminisce.