safe place

There is no safe place to put the words.

I desperately look out the window. So many words are choked up in my heart, all of them distinctly tasting like grief. There is the broken friend, the empty boy, the gripping of death. The man has seen war. The girl is alone.

I feel dead.

But there is no place for the words. No place to bury them deep enough that they never see the sun.

So they sit in my heart and rot, all of them distinctly tasting like decay. I'd bury, I'd destroy. But I can't quite get my hands to work. Can't quite get my heart to start moving. We pull into the driveway of the house I love, and the third of July is painful, hot and strong. We run into the heat, every word an effort.

There is no safe place for me. 

And then the rain comes. The drops are drenching, huge and cold. The running slows down, and then we're just laughing blindly as we stumble around in the wetness. I think I'm laughing. Maybe I'm crying. The rain pours down like tears.

What is this madness?

A promise. 

A safe place.

The Lord cries all over me, and I cry because He is crying. My spirit aches and groans and I realize that what it says are not words.

It is raining inside me, washing out the decay.

There is no safe place for the words. 

And that's okay. Because the words are dead anyways, so wash them out of me. What it leaves behind will be the room for something else to grow. I was dead. Now I live. The rain finally drives us in, and we pull towels over our heads and laugh silly. It smells like hot dogs and family and mango salsa.

And it tastes distinctly like freedom.

♥

xoxo