heart
I picture the heart like a switchboard - the heart in my head is a big, red valentine with sharply cut corners and this switchboard has all these landlines hanging off it, all warm and pulsating, marked with names or relationships. 'Friend From University' or 'Travel Companion' or 'The One That Was Never Meant To Be'.
And for the past week, the one marked 'Myself' is white-hot and angry and remorseful as words whisper themselves out of the receiver and into my veins. Yet at the same time, i have never felt more alive than i do, never more full of gratitude and peace, never more acutely aware of my desperate need for God.
And for the past week, the one marked 'Myself' is white-hot and angry and remorseful as words whisper themselves out of the receiver and into my veins. Yet at the same time, i have never felt more alive than i do, never more full of gratitude and peace, never more acutely aware of my desperate need for God.
