A bit of me would like to say
I felt a bit of something
but I’m not sure what it was
or what I’ll do
so I must keep it from you
or we’ll be forced into
a remorseful dance
of taking and giving
until one of us
or both of us
are no longer whole
and neither of us knows
what happened
or how a little bit became
a bearing of souls.

I stood by my window and watched a large crowd of people march behind a singing man, one whole told some well known stories and there were people in costume, one wore a wig of long waved locks and dragged a wooden cross larger than he was. They sang and they followed and although I am very familiar with the story and have heard the songs a thousand times, I was moved by their faith.
I once knew what faith was. I felt it when I was a child. I remember kneeling and believing that something was with me, that someone watched over me. I grew older and much too cynical to believe and I started to stand at a distance, always with that feeling of watching something I no longer understood, but always with great respect and part of me always longing for that peaceful space where faith lives. That place where all things have a purpose, even the most unimaginable suffering…

What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.

Gabriel García Márquez (via strandbooks)

I was forced to face that realization
that even if I somehow manage
to put the pieces in the right places
it won’t undo
all the scars I’ve placed
along the way
again
and the guilt
wears on me
like a relentless
old friend
telling hurtful jokes
at my expense.

I wake up every morning and
I am at war. Some days I am
a soldier, some days I am a
land mine. This morning I
woke up a captive country;
I am being swallowed whole
and can’t find hands to fight
for myself.

anne, waking up helpless (via anneisrestless)