nathanael.ink

I came home from work earlier than usual today. Finished walking a hyper-needy boxer, showered, and turned on my pc just in time to realize my muscles had been struggling to keep my bones upright; like my brain finally gave my body the ‘okay’ to feel super miserable (I guess it was as good a time as any). With my final breaths I set Spotify to shuffle through some John Mark McMillan and tanked my rag-doll carcass onto the couch. I then spent about 5 minutes enduring the recompense of Wrigley’s (the boxer) grossly unfounded misconception that she, in fact, would fit reasonably well in the narrow groove between myself and the back of the couch. In time peace did find me, but per the norm, I found a way to muff it up. I got all eclectic. Traversed some memories, looked up old girlfriends new boyfriends, and began a conversation with an ex-girlfriend the same way I always do: in my head.

“What I would do… what I would do to be with you” I said with an uncomfortable sense of longing.

Imagined her here. Imagined five or six possible responses she might offer if I found some way to actually communicate those words to her (through the magic of the internet). I could tell her all the stuff I’m sorry for, the stuff I will be better at, and acknowledge the stuff I did to her that she just absolutely never deserved. I would know that my words mean almost nothing, know that my actions would have to prove it, and know that my asking for another opportunity is a misconception as grossly unfounded as Wrigley’s. Since, per the norm, I muffed previous opportunities. These sorts of conversations tend to develop a gravity (given their density) that generates a vacuum into which every proceeding thought for the next hour or so would be consumed… but instead, after only a few exchanges of dialogue, I felt something climb into my consciousness like a young man climbing into his lovers window.

“What would you do to be with Me?”

Now, when a moment like this arrives you’re faced with a few options: you can try to respond, or you can weep uncontrollably. I landed somewhere between those two as I was reassembling myself… I could go on to describe the implications of His words and the moment of intimacy that followed from this level of being so terribly humiliated (in a caught-red-handed kind of way) but… I won’t. Go get it for yourself.