The Narrow Straight Into Darkness

Written a long time ago

Walk the narrow straight. 

It's not so straight, but it's narrow. No room for a companion. No guardrails for when I feel weak. My strength is ebbing. I am drowning in a moving circling current, unable to float into freedom. 

What does it mean to let go of someone you love? 

I know I mustn't cut him out of my life. I know I mustn't hate him. How could I? My heart aches because I love him so much and don't know how to be merely a friend. 

A friend? I wait. I grow. I pray. I gave him my heart... he said, "Thank you for your vulnerability. Let me hold it for a bit. Never mind. It bores me." 

Oddly, he never returned my gift. How could he? How can a heart be returned or taken back? How can fire be unkindled? Passion must burn its course until it dies. 

* * *

"What do you want to do with your life," a man asks a girl. 

"I want to forget all of my dreams save the ones that might add sparkles to your life," the girl says. 

He scoffs. "Find a purpose." 

And yet every purpose, every dream she once fascinated over he tears down in disapproval. 

He tells her to be loving as he cuts her down. She offers tea and he demands water. When he is with her he uses her to fill himself. But he rarely reciprocates aid. 

He demands. She gives. And yet it is never enough. Always he is disappointed. Always he comes back and reopens the wound. 

Oh, but what bitter reflections. He is thankful. He says so. Even when he degrades her desire to serve him with all her femininity, even then she says, "I can't give up on him. He owns my heart." 

She knows his heart and soul are worth loving. He is all thumbs; his head is clouded by novels and unsuitable girls. She watches him dice up his heart and hand it out to every girl. But she saw his soul. She cries as the others devour him, trampling him. This is the darkness that separates them; he is unable to accept true love as he seeks momentarily boosts of praise. 

Darkness. It is that darkness that tricks him into destroying himself, that tells him joy is found in every seemingly young, foolish girl. 

She must let him go. He has chosen his pain over the comfort of her breasts. He says, "I will chase others." Her stomach turns and twists. She dreams that he sits by her, that he shows her his heart, that she takes his shoes to her breast, and she kisses them. She awakens mortified. And yet, she wishes to serve him with all her being, to be his helpmeet and delight. 

Let him go. Walk the narrow path. Remember God. Find purpose. But how dark it is! Letting him go means she no longer feels his criticism. Now she is not drowning in his disdain. At last, she is free to grow and dance, a wildflower anew. But... her heart is still gone. What is she to grow toward? She may not be overwhelmed with his fertilizer, yet her petals fade. 

The narrow path is dark ahead of her. Nothing lights the way. Why must she keep going? No need to turn to the left or right. She does not desire to go astray, only to fall where she is and sit. She can't walk into the darkness... not alone. 

She sits, waiting, unable to release even a tear, unable to shriek. She doesn't want death; she begs to feel alive again. She prays silently. 

"God, give me the strength to forget my heart, to cut myself from his soul, to face the darkness." 

He does not answer. Hope springs anew as she watches others rediscover their happiness. If they did, so can she. The more the merrier, yes? Their victories are the brokenhearted assurance. 

"Father, are you saying I may sit and wait for him awhile?" 

She has no energy anyways. She gave him her lustrous health and joy too freely; she must recuperate. 

* * * 

Is he happier for every bit of joy he consumed? I can't begrudge him even that. If only he'd taken my hand with my heart, I could have been an endless well. I could have always danced at his side. Now, frail and discarded, I must disentangle my desires and allegiances. 

If only I didn't feel a fraction of his heart where mine used to live. Maybe then I could walk boldly into the darkness and forget him forever. 

Even now I hope that he comes for the rest of me. Even as I rest and find peace, I wait. 

I've let him go. Where do I put myself? I'm facing the darkness. There is nothing to pull me forward. Even God's arms seem far behind me. 

I'm tired of being told I must pursue something, go somewhere. I just want to be a woman. I crave to be at his side, my hand in his, adding laughter and light to his straight narrow. God, please. Just let me sit. I can't go on anymore. I can't face the barren unknown.

* * * 

I let go until I was gone. 

* * * 

But who was I to be anywhere anyway? 

Here I am, pursuing dreams handed to down to me, conquering sins I never asked for. I am showered with blessings and curse myself for accepting. The world is mine. But all I ever wanted was a small hill to die on. 

* * * 

And I live, and embroider, and fix my hair, and let myself cry even though I've already smiled into the mirror. I remember the cat that died, and the dog that was killed. I've suffered before. I will write my story and grieve and move on. 

God will have my angry letter, and my life, and my happy ending. So it is.