vocea

Let me back in. Let me return. To where I'm me. Just me, and the closeness of myself. In the womb, the closet, the crawl space, the parting between the shrubs, the forts made of sheets and dining chairs, the hockey bag, sleeping bags, hide and seek - you won't find me. Hidden away in the comfort formed by the absence of space. I like it. No need to grow up, worry, talk, be someone. Where all that is, exists within arms reach, and the world doesn't extend past the boundary of darkness and light. Where I breathe in, breathe out, heart beats, ears tune to the ringing of silence. Where the past is the present and the future does not exist. Where I am alone, I am me, and I know who I am.

Not the me He yearns for me to be, mind you. My heart is open, my hearing unimpaired, yet I do not hear Him. I seek but I do not pursue. I open the window, I do not run out the door in pursuit; when a strong breeze approaches I pull the pane closed to harbour all remaining warmth.

I'm sorry.
I'm stubborn.