i am not eloquent right now. i only know that it hurts, and i want the chance to make the hurt go away, if just for a little while, even if it ends up costing more than my life can afford.
i also know that i'm incredibly self-centered right now. until this one, every sentence has begun with 'i'. like a little child who expects her demands be met simply because she wants something, i've been refusing to acknowledge the existence of a bigger picture.
and there is a bigger picture, of that i have no doubt. i've seen the faces of the bigger picture, heard their voices, with questions so raw that mine are shamed into silence. i've witnessed the cost of the big picture, shedding a light on my demands that exposes them for the selfish trifles that they are.
they say that life imitates art, and the fact that this struggle so perfectly mirrors the monologue i am doing this sunday is, i'm sure, no coincidence. in a previous post i quoted a poem by Rilke in which he refers to 'the unspeaking center of her monologues'... as i lay down this struggle, i can only pray that the end of this poem be my story:
...with each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.
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