Finding...

Jaded..?
Because I doubt this.
I don't believe in soulmates any more.
I don't believe in a twin flame.
I don't believe in "finding" a mate.

I'm so damned afraid to ever hear "I love you" from a man again...
In anything other than friendship.
It could be lies, all lies.
It could hide such deceit.
It could destroy the fragile ability to trust that I'm working so hard to grow.
If I let it close, if I dare let down the drawbridge even the slightest bit...

It "could..."

Will it?

I can't possibly know that. Or predict it.

Funny, because I still do believe in love.
Even after having my trust completely obliterated...

So, I won't look.
I'll grow and tend friendships like my favorite raspberries in the garden... :-)
With care.

I'll be quiet, and watch.
And wait.
And work on becoming a better version of myself.
And learn to love others better.
And learn to let God work in me deeper.
And learn to laugh, and smile, and dream again.
And learn to give...

And one day...

Just maybe...

Hearing "I love you" will sound like home is calling.

Fear will vanish.

And I'll walk through that warm, welcoming door.

And my soul will be found.

All we are..

At once we seem so simple.

A body.

Look deeper.

A soul.

Look even deeper.

Our mind, will, and emotions are wrapped up in between the cells.

Wrapped in the light, the glue of the universe.

A spirit.

Oh, it's getting complicated now.

Where is the personality lodged?

From what soil did it come forth and in what it has put strong roots?

Thoughts?

Ahhh... they have temporarily erected thrones in shifting foundations.

Springing up, then toppled, then built again.

Where can one find the heart's residence?

Do I go by feeling to note its location? 

Because at times it's low in my belly, solid and grounded. Calm and peaceful.

At other times it rockets through my chest like a locomotive, threatening to burst its bounds.

And then, there it is clutching my throat with a vise-like grip, holding back words... or sobs.

Even there, from behind my eyes. Burning, melting, leaking... or blank.

Memories are housed in my head, right?

A shovel should dig them right up and out.

Ah, but no.

They twist and turn, some from shadowed corridors, some from breathtakingly lighted glass jars.

I can smell the cedar fire, taste the gingerbread, feel the softly falling rain, and hear the words whispered.

Perhaps they are only suspended above my head.  

I cannot reel them in and sort them out.

It makes me doubt their veracity.

Ah, but then I look even deeper still.

Faith.

Where does it live?

Trust.

Honor.

Truth.

Where does character have its birth?

Doubt.

How to cut out that which is diseased?

How to prune the unruly branches in me?

How to determine what is worthy to remain?

Oh, and I forgot about something.

Longing.

Is there a room for this, as well?

It aches and reaches, groans and pines.

Stark white walls with no decoration.

Unfilled.

Small on the outside, but cavernous within.

Its questions tumble on and on, asking, without answer, a riotous flood.

Simple?

One has to be simpleminded to think so.

More intricate and complicated than I can comprehend.

Yet, it is all we are.