The sun is high in the sky, the birds are singing so joyfully that the wandering feet on the street below cannot help but to join in on the joy, and then there is me. I sit alone in a coffee shop, sipping on hot tea, a pen in my hand, and trying to think of a story that can ever compare to the stories that I have truly lived. I have held love in my arms and dropped it so many times that I cannot deny that God would be foolish to ever trust me with love again, and I know God is not that foolish. So I must just live with decisions.
The birds outside sing a song about hope, I know that I know the song, but the lyrics just don’t come to mind in this moment. They have escaped me. Slipped out of my mind and just far enough from my tongue that I am now useless and no longer a part of its choir.
I know love. Love and I met up on so many occasions that the whispers around us called us “inseparable.” I thought it were true too, those whispers, but it turns out they were only filled with ignorance. And so was I. And so was love for even wasting all of those years with me, because, now, we are anything but inseparable.