Hurt and Revelation

A longing unfulfilled, I explain carefully and with a practiced air. A heart desperate for the pouring-in.

I look up and note the protracted expression and vacant, unbelieving gaze—it is expected though still somehow unwelcome.

My life is laundry list of issues, one pain, one scar after another and I worry that you will be caught up in the wake of all of this dysfunction, which is bad for my conscience, bad for my bleeding heart.

Yet for all of my words, all of my reassurances, I cannot forget the vacancy of that stare, the eyes that seemed to peer straight through me and my problems and see only the irreparable damage that I have done; the beautiful, trusting heart that offers me its forgiveness and reconciliation even when I have stripped away something precious.

It is far too much for me to bear and I long to free myself of the burden of this guilt. I know there is absolution in the arms of the Almighty and yet I know too that I will never be able to fully forgive my own traitorous heart and wretched flesh.

I think we both know that this must end, it must, but I still value your friendship and company, I say as a closing, hoping that the mangled heart before me might not judge too harshly.

Yet I know, my worth plummets even as the others climbs—the broken over the breaker—the other will heal and move on while I rock in this corner, not at all convinced by my worthless words.

The eyes have shifted down now, from my face to the floor, but as they rise again I can see so much hidden in their crystalline depths, hurt and revelation I will never know.