Fingers wrapped around the steaming brew, I’d find my eyes. The big ones that strangers stop and comment on, the ones that I can’t quite decide if they are blue or green or somewhere in between. I’d lean forward – listening for the words spoken and the things left unsaid. Reading between the lines.
I’d reach across the table – grasping the dry hands I can’t seem to bring back to life. And I think that I’d cry, too.
I wouldn’t tell you the words you tend to say, the words that are harsh and that tell you to wipe away the tears and stifle the cries. I’d tell you to feel it. I’d tell you to reach into that heart of yours, and grab the sharp pieces, and let them have their way with you.
And then I’d tell you
I’m so sorry for the mess you’re sitting in right now.
But I’d also tell you this –
The mess doesn’t make you less beautiful. The confusion doesn’t make you less sure. The unplanned road ahead of you doesn’t make you lost.
It makes you human.
And there’s something so wonderfully human about being in the desert. Of aching for the water. Of searching for the hidden places. I want to be in that place with you.
Let’s search for the water together.
Two are always better than one, anyways. Walk into the dry land just a bit further –
you don’t know the oasis your heart might find.