sometimes my heart longs for a time that is still in the making.

It seems that with the oppressive heat that never cools down at night and the exhaustion that keeps one awake, my thoughts have not been erased (for they are as loud as ever) but the means of communication seems like a dream I once had, a memory, a distant heartbeat. I long for the chilly days of autumn and the taste of freshly made apple cider, and I hold out for the days that must surely come. I am reaching for a strength beyond my own, and a peace that covers every event, every change, and every breath I take. It's funny, how you can be here but yet your heart is miles away with the one person that makes your heart laugh; it's like how we are here in this world, a part of it, living in it, surrounded by it, and yet not really a part of it. We are strangers and sometimes it can feel that way when laughter echoes through the halls and smiles light up the faces because sometimes it can feel the loneliest when you are surrounded by people and crowds make for the saddest hearts. Loving someone once, doesn't mean they love you back, and friendships once had and promises once made don't always last forever. We are a fragile people, we are filled with spaces and deep tunnels of secrets that can be easily filled and also easily burned, but yet we are so beautiful and wonderfully made. We break from one fall and have no strength of our own; I guess that is why we have always been told, since childhood, to love our fellow man and to be patient because we don't know the struggle going on beneath the facade. And sometimes I feel like I don't even know the struggle in my own heart and yet I know it's there. It's as evident as the sun that rises every morning and falls back every evening; like the dew that sparkles on the grass and the frost that paints our windows with elaborate designs in the winter. There is a struggle, there is a war, there is a winning side and a losing side. And yet the things that keep me awake at night, and the loneliness I sometimes feel as I try to ignore how hot my blanket is getting, and when I finally throw the covers back in desperation for some cool air, I feel it all and it is real, and yet to to try and describe it, to paint the colors that are my heart is a near impossibility. I am someone lost in this crowd and I think the heart can weep without being sad. And yet He whispers to me as the night gets old and the weariness chills my bones; your Beloved is here.

xx. Amy Jane