I wonder of you’ll ever understand my otherness. And I wonder why conformity is just out of reach.
I’ve tried to be a joiner, but initial enthusiasm just melts into subdued avoidance.
I don’t mean to ignore all your well intentioned phone calls, text messages, and IMs. I always mean to get back to you. Do you understand why I’d rather spend time with the printed page, music blocking out the silence?
I didn’t think so, but this is what I wish as I walk in the darkness of 3 am, when the world is asleep, but my mind is still racing.
Did you know that I love you more than life, more than my cat, more than clichés? More than those splendidly horrible movies I watch until the DVDs are scratched and freeze just before my favorite scenes.
Do you understand why I can never be happy? Why I only smile in those seconds when I forget who I am?
I’ve read all the books that say I will never be happy until I accept who I am. I’ve listened to—and even sung—all those songs about my divine heritage, but it is this heritage that demands my sadness.
But you can’t understand, can you? Sitting in your house full of kitsch, God making your heart glad as He tears apart mine.
But I don’t blame you. I don’t envy you. To some are given the gift of faith and to others the gift of sadness.
Do you not see the blessing of this pain? It took me a while to see it, but now the colinearity is blinding, binding.
But it still hurts that I am not you.