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October 15, 1999
When I search for things to
give me comfort,
all I can find is memories
and memories are reminders
and reminders are finger pointers
so I run in a circle within myself
How did I get here?
How did I become this person that I am?
Is it right, is it true, is it all that God expected it to be?
I remember when I had reasons to smile...
how comforting it felt to be fresh.
And I remember how sweet I was, how it oozed out of me uncontrollably and all I could
do was
sing and whistle.
I remember security,
assurance,
acclamations of the heart.
I remember how it smelled, how it shined, how natural it felt, and that it always tasted like
fresh air.
But now I'm just standing still.
In front of my window,
fixed to my perch on the sill.
I don't know what's going on out there,
what it means,
how my actions, my words, my ambitions,
and my precious dreams
fit into this plan of yours Lord,
but I know it must be beautiful.
And... well, frankly God,
it doesn't look so nice.
It looks confusing and shaky and painful and unattainable.
It looks like I've lost.
What was it I was loosing again???
I lost chunks of my soul, pieces of my heart,
ounces of my esteem and sparkle,
but my biggest loss,
is my precious dreams.
So long to hope worth clinging to,
smiling at,
reaching for,
aspiring to,
planning for,
anticipating,
dreaming of.
Here I sit,
at my window,
watching the world pass by,
I wish I could see farther, but my eyes just don't function that way.
sometimes I watch it rain,
sometimes I sing to the clouds on sunny days,
sometimes I watch things grow, or change, or move, or die,
and I just donít' understand.
But it's still my window.
There is a method to this madness,
that you will reveal,
when you want me to know,
when I'm ready,
when I'm humble and wise enough to understand.
I pray with a sigh that the time comes soon.
I can't move for now and I'm despaired by my stillness...
I shift here and there on the sill, and I rock back and forth every time the breeze blows,
but my feet are planted here on earth,
my eyes fixed to the window...
If you've made me a window.
Lord...changing,
moving,
dieing.
How do I make new dreams?
I know it's supposed to be beautiful...
I just don't see it.
I just can't see myself out there,
and I can't believe that I'm worth singing for anymore.


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