Reflections

At first, it’s almost uncomfortable. The heat grinds against set in cold. It’s almost unnatural. Then it’s restorative. Color that had been lost over night, returning to flesh. The sting of life that forces you to grasp reality. It’s riveting and petrifying. I find myself unable to move. I can only stand and feel. And feel. That’s what makes the experience worth while. The feeling. The realization. The epiphanic scenario. It’s disruptive. I find myself struggling with emotions and decisions. That discomfort from before rears again and again. This indecisiveness just leads to sadness.

It’s the way the water pours over me. The way it crashes over every part of me and resumes its course. How easily I am overcome. I am no obstacle. It trails in the only direction it knows how and paints my figure exactly as it is - such an unbiased medium. It ripples at the bottom, tossing over itself. I feel like I am hidden when I’m under this paint. Or rather, that I am held. Such a consuming warmth can really only be found in an embrace. This makes it hard for me to want to leave. It’s that petrification. That sadness born from confusion. It’s the acceptance of the truth. Water can’t hold you.

Sometimes I’ll compare that comfort to what I think it would feel like to be held by God. I always imagine falling back into a blanket that wraps around me. But I can never quite describe it. It’s more like a blanket of sound. I wonder if others could really imagine the same thing I do. There’s probably no point in describing it. I find it upsetting that I can’t portray my thoughts properly to others.

The worst is when I step out of the shower. Not because the cold air clashes against the heat on my skin. It’s when I close the mirrored, shower door behind me and look back to where I was standing not even a minute ago to see this image. A person whom I recognize to be familiar, but I couldn’t say I know well. His hair is wet. It is dark and thick with water. The heaviest of water will drip down from his hair. Some will stream down from his scalp, rushing down the lines that compose his face. Other drops will fall off the tips of his hair down onto the floor where they are stepped on and forgotten. 

His eyes are cold. They watch me. He assesses me and silently judges me. The skin under his eyes is dark, due to the fact that he just woke up and it’s far too early. My eyes will meet his in a paralleled gaze. He will question me as I question him. No words will be uttered. We will speak with our thoughts. I will not use my mouth, for I know that if I speak he will only mock me.

I grow curious of him. I wonder what his aspirations are. Does he dream at night? Has he ever been broken by the ones he loved? Has he ever been in love? Does he even know what love really is? I wonder how often he feels alone. I wonder if God loves him as He loves me. I wonder if he even believes in God.

His face is one I know well but as to what lies in the depths of that face, I do not know. I know him strictly on a shallow level. He is but a blank sheet of paper to me. I know not of his depth or if there is a story inscribed on his page. His emotions are a secret, kept hidden from me. I look into his eyes and can see nothing more than a reflection of my own face. In him I see myself. I do not know him. I do not know myself. 

 I pull the towel up over my head like a hood and stare at him with one uncovered eye. He does the same. I let out a deep breath and close my eyes. For now, I am alone. I begin drying my hair. Time is precious and I can’t be late for school. I bend over and shake my head like a wet dog. I open my eyes and look at the floor. My gaze is set there for quite some time. 

Sometimes, I forget that I’m alive. The steam from the water forms around my body. The music from the adjacent room plays in the background. I’m alone with myself and the moment is bittersweet. In these moments, I lose myself, along with the time. In these moments, I act solely on compulsions. In these moments, I envy the man Who was compelled by selfless means, contrary to myself. In these moments, I remember why I’m alive.

My body lifts back up to a standing position, as if it was a marionette being pulled by strings. My sight trails up his body as my head escalates. I notice the scars on his arms. Those etched notepad lines. With every engraving, a degrading word. I can see it in the way he tries to hold himself together. He thinks nothing of himself. With every cut in his forearm, he wrote a word that he thought would be an accurate description. I can see some of the words. Worthless. Alone. Dirty. Failure.  

What compelled him to confine himself to such degradations? Doesn’t he know that He died to prevent such things? He died, so that we wouldn’t suffer. For us all. Even him. I found myself yelling at him in my head. Stop living for yourself you fool; it’s not about you anymore. I reach out to touch him. He mirrors my action and meets my hand half way. Palm against palm. 

 My eyes meet his for the last time. I realize what I want from him. I want him to open his mouth and speak. I want him to take on a life of his own. I want to hear him say that we will be okay. I want him to recognize that we don’t have to suffer anymore. And for the times that we are, that we don’t have to do it alone. I want him to initiate the smile. To assure me that I can be held. To assure me that no matter what I do, He will always cover me with an unbiased medium. He will always paint me as a perfect image, exactly as He made me. 

 It must be Love. Not the kind you read about in tabloids, or the kind you see on TV. It’s the kind that keeps you warm, even when surrounded by flurries. The kind that took my place between rough wood and rusted nails. God is love. He will always be with me, even when I turn away. I smile at him. He smiles back. I turn towards the door. He reaches for the doorknob. I walk out the door. The air is cold.

Author's Note

Rough Draft, any advice is appreciated.

Reviews

[Kate Hunter]

This is an exceptionally deep piece of writing, I'm sure everyone has asked at least one of these questions before. There's a reason we don't know everything that we feel like we should, it's a form of protection. Sometimes Ignorance is bliss. Your writing is something I wish I could come across more often, compared to those who try to convince others that God doesn't exist. You're a very intelligent person, I can feel it in your writing. Keep up the good work.

[NaomiJim]

This is really well written. You had me captured from start to finish. I agree when people have told you not to change anything, in my opinion.

[brittneymarie]

Your writing is so intriguing and genuine, I couldn't stop reading until the very end. Your piece is so descriptive and promising, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this story, amazing !

[skigirl]

WOW! Its amazing! I know that you are a great writer. There REALLY isn't anything that you should change. You are amazing. And you are right! God is AMAZING! Thank you for writing! :p

[Leah Dawn]

I actually love it--don't change a thing:)
Your desciption is great. Very detailed. Amazing.

[misha]

This was a beautiful and intriguing piece of writing. I love at the end where you state "God is love" This was amazing and I am happy to see that God has reached you in such a way. He truly is love and he will always protect us. Great job!

[Raven Starhawk]

For me your plot is well developed with a sense of direction that gives the narrative voice that much more power behind every line composed.

[ecept]

Your 6th paragraph, got me to thinking as well. Does he even believe in God? Such words to ponder on. Some people just don't. You have such deep imagery, Which is wonderful.