until the last

Is it the dark that you fear? When you were a child, fear lay in the space where your hands could no longer reach and your eyes could no longer see. The blackness was overwhelming, suffocating, too too much to bear. It was terrifying to think that you could both shut and open your eyes, and the air had already turned to ink.

Disappointment. Humiliation. Guilt.

Inferiority.

Things we inevitably encounter when venturing into adulthood. It may be in the comparison of yourself to others; to their bank balance, to their hair, to their talents.

Talent. Does it pose such a threat because it surrounds me in a way that darkness consumes children? It is an innate ingredient that God chooses to include in some, and not others. Why? Have we the permission to ask?

Dig dig dig. Dig deeper. Claw until you undo every single stitch.

Study their eyes, can you see yourself in them? I like crows feet. Why does your lip do that when you talk, it doesn't matter if it's a compliment or a prayer or a lie. Why?

Connection. It's more than a hello. It's more than sharing dessert, it's more than sharing a bed, it's sharing your LIVES. It's sharing your days, your yesterday, today and tomorrow, your birthday and their birthday and the next fifty to come.

I want to be something. Let me be something. More than a go to, more than a middle man, more than an assistant, more than a shoulder to rest on, or to cry on, more than a sponge thrown into rose water and then blood.

Let me.