I understand why people need to believe in Heaven. That the concept of just being gone is one we’re capable of consuming, but instead we loiter at its edge because we’re all too aware of what stepping over means. We do this. We feel the pull of a heavy thing with deep, crushing gravity and we don’t advance because it’s untested and inadvisable to see what such a force could do to a human soul. I would like to believe it too, but the truth is, it doesn’t much matter to me. For all intents and purposes, what I’ve lost is gone. The things it watered sitting dry in old dirt. The air stale and gratuitous. The world spinning a little slower. What I’ve lost is gone from me, and so I don’t mind stepping over the edge.
I just want to be happy. That’s the thought that attached itself to the ends of tears I didn’t prompt. The well of sadness in me that’s been fed by the fears of my helplessness silently overflowed. Small things trickle into its basin until it sits in me like a heavy pit. I just want to be happy and that’s quite a bit harder than it sounds. Because everything I loved left me before its time. Everything I’ve wanted to last bent to the will of fickle things, mostly my own. And I’ve found this one thing that I will never mangle, this one thing I will fight to keep. Yet all these things that expire outside of my control are like kerosene to this little fire that’s burned steadily inside me. This fear that I’m fated to always be finding and losing things. This desperate, guttural longing for certainty, for the fealty of just one thing. How quickly that longing melts into trepidation which fills the basin inside me like a heavy pit.
I am white knuckling my way through life because I know that the source of my greatest happiness lays at the feet of things I cannot govern. All that I want of the world has to be bestowed. The conditions must be right and they must be able to change. Access has to be granted and kept. There is no version of my life that is safe from my greatest trials, and in order to claim the happiness I bled to find, I have to shake the hand of this truth. I have to make peace with the conditions of my desires, because the fear of them blots out all that I toiled to find. I cannot manage my dread of these things and hold space for happiness. While I’m anticipating the worst of it all, I somehow choose to forego the best of it.
Perhaps it is a lesson I’ll learn time and time again, when the waters of my basin overflow. Let it kill me. Let it break my heart and run me ragged. Let it all come, in whatever form it wishes. All I’ve wanted from my life is this; ample things to pour my love into. All of these things will leave me, in one manner or another, and I simply bear no charge over this. It is the most risky and most painful thing I will ever agree to. But should I choose not to, I can never have the most spectacular and worthwhile things a tender heart should hope for.