how this is going to happen? Yeah, maybe. I have ideas. I have desires. I know you do too. I feel it. It’s fine — everything is actually alright.
And I am so glad. So, so, gratefully glad.
I am crying, you see? And it’s really alright.
Is this how it was meant to be? I can see it that way, because it all feels so exactly perfect in this moment. In the goodness of it.
And then there are those moments of doubt, when it doesn’t feel alright (even though it actually is alright), and when it can’t possibly be meant to be this way, because how could something like this be meant to be? How cruel is this story written, how cruel the Writer of this story —
I am the Writer.
I am the Written.
So if that’s true, then the real and only question I must ask (my self) is
Not a pathetic why me.
Not a searching, scrounging, screaming WHY!?
Instead: a curious, inquisitive, scientific, interested — even wondrous
Now, why would I write that?
Really now, what am I trying to teach myself, what lesson am I trying to learn, by having this particular experience?
And it all makes sense from there.
No more cruelty. No more victimizing my self.