i am silent.
i am sometimes forgotten, even by myself.
because i'm too eager to slice a vein and pour my heart out to another, leaving myself parched with life flowing away and yet, i find myself still wondering why i'm so weary.
but i'm still one. and i need to not forget that so easily.
and by One, i am never forgotten.
why is that we are so able to stretch out fragile arms to those around us, and forget about that person who wears our skin and breathes our air? that one of a kind suit of flesh and blood tangled around soul and spirit and sanctified?
i think it's okay to be woman. it's okay to taste the sting of death and come out the other side alive. it's okay to not be strong all the time. it's okay to rely on another's arms to bear you up because your legs have turned to shaking, and your heart has turned to thudding.
you don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope.
// suzanne collins :: the hunger games //
sometimes, that last hope seems impossible to even find anymore.
but it's there, i promise you.
and when you see it, you never forget His face.