I love so much but I cannot write their names in a public place because I must not mention them…. or they may feel sad.
Or… they may be confused.
Or… they will feel sorry or guilty.
Or… they will think, “Is this what Sophie feels?”
Like, “She loves me this much?”
“How odd she is.”
Real love. REAL LOVE. Real real love. I wrote today in my journal earlier, and I only just discovered I wrote it now when I opened it to write some more — Lord, show me what it means to be confident in real love. Real real love. The pains of growing apart… I long to be with you.
Why did I write those words? When I am feeling the presence of God every day these past two weeks with such intensity? Am I a crazy woman? Why do I feel like… we are… growing apart… Am I speaking about you, God, or others? The trouble with stream of consciousness writing is -
You know. You can never tell where your schizo-bipolar ideas come from – but maybe that insanity is what is most truthful. Lord, I am missing someone… some people, as I always have. But I must believe wholeheartedly that nothing can separate you and me except for what I allow, and maybe you can take that “missing” feeling away. Freedom from emptiness, loneliness, doubt, and “does He love me”-ness. Oh how I long to be certain deep inside my core!
