Surprise coloring her voice, blended with curiosity and a tentative tendril of doubt.
Wondering, if maybe she reached out her fingers and touched, this happiness would pass over to her as well. As if happiness was something that could be passed along from hand to hand, like bananas or a small rubber ball. Or with a look and a sigh.
As if, like the woman bleeding for many years, she could touch the cloak and feel alive again, with only a little faith, and desperation, and helplessness, and fear, and longing.
… if I could touch your clothes, I could feel your power…
Oh yes, the longing. The wanting but not having. The needing but not getting.
And being so alone and forsaken.
Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t want to reach out to the illusion she sees at the bottom of the well, and fall in and drown altogether.
I’ve got the faith to believe…
Is it worth the effort to find out? She’s been hurt one times too many.
She remembers everything that transpired. Raw insides. Endless bleeding.
I’m so tired.
Reaching out, and pulling away… reaching out, and pulling away…
Could she fall down the rabbit hole, so to speak, and begin again?
All we know is that it isn’t her last chance.
But I’m running towards you and it’s all I believe.
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Song: Come My Way by Skillet
Related post: On Choosing Happiness by chasingparadise