it’s funny when I first found this song.
the season was so different than it is now.. such of love and early mornings…
it’s strange to feel it now.. the lyrics are present, but the feel is.. where it was. almost enough to frustrate me, but, mostly just infinitely strange..
“oh my darling
this is getting harder
the world is growing smaller
everyday
oh my darling your memory slowly fading
i know i keep complaining but
i’m not as strong as i was…”
-noah gundersen. San antonio fading.
I feel exactly this song. As if thats important these days. What i feel? What you feel? Who cares really. Just feelings. Always passing, never staying. Never resting or settling in.. I’m so incredibly frustrated. A deep irritant under my skin .. can’t scratch it out, cant itch enough at it … don’t you have a voice? Don’t you want any particular way? “Well fine, either way, either way is fine with me” well, have you nothing to fight for?
Have you now nothing to want… no..no i suppose not.
There is a lion in me… it is stronger than me… but it is me
this is another night I’m not sure I’ll make it through.. I want so badly to share my joy with her.. not just the sorrow. For today there was joy, there was success, so I turned to tell her, and she was not there.. I turned to lift her up, but she was not to be lifted..
I turn back my own hand… keep praying. Keep praying. Keep praying.. praying not just for my own intent, hard to pray that God give her any good He has, even without me.. so hard to pray, so hard. So hard.. but I do it, hoping He will hear it, hoping He will help her… I truly feel now, potentially, exactly as she feels, to love that which will likely never love in return… but the fact that we had loved, makes us both think it’s possible again… keep looking for answers, but faced with the inevitable…
Oh how I could still love her… how I could foster every ounce again.. but the vanity of it. I would be equally mislead as she.. I must put into practice, that which I hoped so desperately she would practice.. to dislocate myself from what my heart is wanting… to release that which does not love me..
I have found those in this life who matter most
and divided my heart accordingly
portioned out
now therefore the best men
by the end will have very little heart left to give
and He will have to be enough
for us both
no one wants to be in this body.. no one meant to live this way..
all we have is the shrapnel..
it lingers on.
I hate my heart.
On a string,
the very string, which us together bound
holds me now
irritating flesh;
my feet up off the ground.
this is the catch: that love is a rope
and away from hands
it moves up the metaphysical
up to the throat; ..
no one now
wants to be up on a string..
so once this rash wears
I’ll forget what it was.. it
was.. was… godwhatwasthatthing…
you cannot resolve. as I have resolved. I cannot bare another claim against me. my bones will be weeds
when my body tells the earth “I
have come back…”
it is liken to the day I envisioned her face
looking back deeply at me;
us both stretched on some hospital beds and we will know then that we tried
to ready our bodies for Unnatural light..
she will know then that she has tried, and I will say “for sure you have tried…”
and in her last breath she will breathe out that she always intended to
have come back…
I swear our bodies have been undone from the same tie
the same twist of skin all bodies are molded in
the Architect’s bin of bones and minds and souls
our two were one but as He spread out the meekest shell of a modest man
the Spirit thought to split the one up even less
now the two bodies wear two separate souls… wondering when each will be modest enough a one
to find themselves a way to share what little is left of oneself… lo, the Lord has done this thing; not that we should find new bodies to wear when we love…
but to be.. and to let un-molded bodies re-meet …
The future cannot know
a language to speak back at us
but the past echos on
clear to this day
such is how His voice
(coming from beyond any time)
speaks a language none could know
until first the diction
the past unclothe
nathanael.ink 