restart
Dear journal,
Hello again. It's been a long time since I've seen you. So long, in fact, that the last time I saw you, I was not yet married. And here we are, finally together again as I am going through a divorce. I must admit, I've missed you. There was always something different about our relationship. It's not the same as talking with another person because you're a great listener and you let me process at my own pace and with my own questions. But at the same time, it's not the same as writing in a personal journal that hides in a corner of my nightstand because you present the possibility of an audience.
I believe it will take me awhile to figure out a rhythm and chemistry with you again because it's been so long, but I am confident that we can have the intimacy and depth that we once shared. I'm excited to work on this together with you because, while it may be hard and I may be resistant to letting you be in my life yet again, I believe it will be worth it. So please be patient with me, whether that means tolerating my sometimes incoherent and abhorrent word strings, or whether that means waiting a few extra days as I ready myself to come back to you yet again. I'm in a place in life where I feel rather rushed, which is saying something considering the rate at which I tend to move. But the end result is that I find patience to be a rather stingy resource. But I trust you. After all, if waiting these three long years for my return isn't indicative of patience, then I don't know what is.
Sorry I won't be sharing much with you tonight. It's rather late and I've got an early start tomorrow. So for now, I will just leave you with the following as an indication of where I'm at:
"You are indeed teaching me about kinds of love I did not know. It is like looking into a deep pit. I am not sure whether I like your kind better than hatred. Oh, to take my love for you, because you know it goes down to my very roots and cannot be diminished by any other, newer love, and then to make of it a tool, a weapon, a thing of policy and mastery, an instrument of torture . . . I begin to think I never knew you. Whatever comes after, something that was between us dies here."
-C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces
Hello again. It's been a long time since I've seen you. So long, in fact, that the last time I saw you, I was not yet married. And here we are, finally together again as I am going through a divorce. I must admit, I've missed you. There was always something different about our relationship. It's not the same as talking with another person because you're a great listener and you let me process at my own pace and with my own questions. But at the same time, it's not the same as writing in a personal journal that hides in a corner of my nightstand because you present the possibility of an audience.
I believe it will take me awhile to figure out a rhythm and chemistry with you again because it's been so long, but I am confident that we can have the intimacy and depth that we once shared. I'm excited to work on this together with you because, while it may be hard and I may be resistant to letting you be in my life yet again, I believe it will be worth it. So please be patient with me, whether that means tolerating my sometimes incoherent and abhorrent word strings, or whether that means waiting a few extra days as I ready myself to come back to you yet again. I'm in a place in life where I feel rather rushed, which is saying something considering the rate at which I tend to move. But the end result is that I find patience to be a rather stingy resource. But I trust you. After all, if waiting these three long years for my return isn't indicative of patience, then I don't know what is.
Sorry I won't be sharing much with you tonight. It's rather late and I've got an early start tomorrow. So for now, I will just leave you with the following as an indication of where I'm at:
"You are indeed teaching me about kinds of love I did not know. It is like looking into a deep pit. I am not sure whether I like your kind better than hatred. Oh, to take my love for you, because you know it goes down to my very roots and cannot be diminished by any other, newer love, and then to make of it a tool, a weapon, a thing of policy and mastery, an instrument of torture . . . I begin to think I never knew you. Whatever comes after, something that was between us dies here."
-C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces