𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒
"Love like this
won't last forever,"
A cruel father; a
long gone mother;
a pious friend who's
as humble as they
come. Lynne's life
is filled with simplicity.
Until she meets him.
The Irishman.
[Completed]
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Edwyn
I have held my breath underwater before, but this isn't like that. This is like having a sword to my throat and being told not to let my heart beat. Of course it will beat. And just like the heart must go on, my lungs will inhale whether it is air or briny water. In moments I will float like the sea weed, nothing more than flesh and bones ready to decay in the currents. I want to be saved, I want a rescuing hand to tow me back to life, to the world I know, but that cannot happen. That is not the way this works. My time is limited, yet that is not the way this works.
To explain my past is to recall and reget and to regret is to go against God's wishes, and so I try not to, yet whenever I sleep does my past fall into my hands like rain on an autumn's evening. I have always been a giver, warm and loving. Even as a child I never cried, seeking to make others happy. Often people sought me in times of trouble and I gave all I had - my mind and heart wholly. At a young age, adults leant on me, told me of their woes and I was their spark of light. Yet, when my time to suffer came, when my world was a hurricane of ice, every light but one switched off. All but one offered a skinny love, shallow and brief, before finding a reason to excuse their flight. But maybe that's the way it had to be, one light to follow, no choice but to walk toward love and truth. Perhaps the road toward heaven feels like hell. Because I can tell you I never felt more empty in mind, body or soul, never so bereft of any comfort. I have never felt so worthless or disposable, never so wretched and cold. For hours I would have no emotion, only an urge to move fast; then all at once I'd be on the floor, shaking with a grief that bled from my bones. Days became weeks and months, and in every single moment of every single day my soul asked God why I must still live.
He said, "Because I love you, son, and you are worth my time. So live, breathe, walk."
Miraculously, my truth had been told and, miraculously, my destiny had been fufilled. He brought me her, his idea of my dedication,in an attempt to numb the pain. Moments of emptiness still came like an ambush, yet in the company of her, a real smile could return, a real laugh, real warmth. I couldn't give much, I was too empty still, but at least I knew who to give it to. I knew who was safe.
And now she needs me yet I feel like I am drowning once again with no hope of being saved. It isn't the pain that scorns the most, nor is it the crushing fear of waiting for my lungs to deny me access, but rather the blackness of my memories that start to spread through my mind when I'm alone, clouding my thoughts and taking me back to places I never wanted to revisit. But only when I believe all hope is lost do I hear her voice. And as it turns out, I was awake the whole time. She is the ray of light in the darkness. It guides me back to reality. She allows me to sit next to her on her bed with no fear of being caught and accused. I tell her I'm afraid because, truly, I am. She does not remember what I told her before, that God had sent me himself and told me to protect her at all costs. She says she understands me. I do not think she does. I feel like crying. I remember a poem I would read to her when she was in her version of my darkness, and start to read it aloud. Little does she know how much of my anchor she had become. Little does she know I try and will try, even if it means I will be working for the rest of eternity, until I am assured she is safe. Only then, will I allow my body to finally fall into the arms of God, no longer able to resist the temptation of His salvation to my pain, for every time I feel like my end is at my door step, I hear His words,
