Thoughts, Prayers, and Dreams 💕

 I can’t remember much about my grandmother. I have specific and special memories, but I can’t remember her voice. I keep her warmth, her love for me. I was too young. Now I have loved a child for a short time. In my mind those special, difficult, and happy times are there. But it feels far from time. This time I at least have photos, videos. My grief is lowering, but she’s still fading… 

 An old building sits, gathering dust as nature creeps around it. That antique sign, not getting attention- until the fire. Suddenly we see what we didn’t see before, maybe we forgot, maybe we remember how we used to care now that destruction has taken ahold of it. We get sad, we get sentimental. We move on, naive of the chance to acknowledge what’s right in front of us. 

 To the friends life left behind,  I don’t know why we fell out of touch. Does it matter really? If it was me, my immature and selfish nature, or if distance made the heart grow too fond. Let me sit with you. I will buy food, we can get to know the newer versions of ourselves and mourn the hollow minds that once connected us together. We don’t even have to talk about Jesus. Just let me be him. 

 There’s a hole in my jeans, right at the knee. I don’t know when it started coming undone. Maybe it was bound to happen but today the seams are fully open. It started small, enough to ignore. Then the jeans were washed in cycles and bent and rubbed. Now I make the hole larger and larger and I rub the bare skin. Exposed, visible. I used to be bothered by ripped jeans, now it means something more.”I could never wear these jeans” I wear this hole honestly. One day I’ll throw out these jeans. I’ll look back at photos and remember my favorite pair. Then I’ll go out and get new jeans until another hole opens.  There’s a hole in my jeans, and in my heart.