i want to be honest

It's been a stirring day. Ever since last night, I've been on the verge of tears. I've been walking around in them, sitting in them, breathing through them. It's an impossible feeling to match with a song. I cried last night from a broken place. From a place of fear and sadness and loneliness and shame. I went from reading a novel to crying for twenty minutes straight without being able to stop. I've wanted to write about it all day.

Love. A holy, sacred word I don't feel worthy of.

I cried for want of it. Not from self-pity. Not from anger. I cried for want. I cried fearing it would never come. That there was none. I felt so much unbridled fear that a man would not come along. That there would never be a great love for me. That a man would never choose to be with me. That a man would never figure me out or even care to try. It hit me in the face that I am alone, as well as the possibility that a man would never try to break my barriers, never try to pull me out of myself.

I feel so inferior. I don't deserve to behold that sacred word, and there may never be a man so well-pronounced as to speak that word to me with his eyes and his hands and his smile. Love is not just a word. Not just a relationship. Love is a living thing, breathing in and out through our bodies and souls. A thing chased but not contained. A thing that moves through us and then moves us. A thing pure and mysterious and beautiful. And I am unworthy of it.

I've wanted to vomit all day. How I'd love to vomit up the blackness inside of me. I've imagined it coming up like ink, but swirling around like oil in the water, this living blackness. Were it that simple. For my stomach to contain all the gall of my soul, and then spit it up. Oh that my body could reject sin in that way- reject it as though it were a foreign substance. But it isn't foreign. And I am not a beautiful thing.

And so I cry.