Those words still hold to be true. But the older I get, the more I realize that it's not the loneliness that kills us, it's the waiting:
It's the silence before the change in weather, the sigh before the revealing answer, the scream before the piercing bullet, the squealing breaks before the crash. It's the anticipation that kills us, and our desire to dive into the unknown.
We get obsessed with this stuff--it makes our blood tingle. And in the midst of it all, we conjure up false truths. We find ourselves unworthy.
We get so lost that we forget that we're only waiting. We forget that we're only lonely.
And what would we do if we knew that the problems we faced weren't really problems at all? What would we utter when we found out that our hope isn't without light? I think we'd all be in shock.
Loneliness is addictive; Waiting is temperamental.
But I think it's in these vulnerable moments when we truly find ourselves. I think it's in these few moments, when we realize that all of our broken pieces are not actually broken--they're whole--and it's the darkness that sheds light on that sometimes.
In that same book that I quoted above, I also quoted this, and I want it to stick to you like it did for the main character:
Love is restless; it never sleeps. It will pursue and consume you until every piece of your body is glued back together again. Even at times when you bleed—just so you know that you’re alive—Love will find you. It won’t leave you breathless or wrung out. Love will never give up on you; in the dark, when you finally find the light that’s been patiently waiting for you, your eyes will be open, and you’ll finally realize your worth.You will no longer be broken.
