Faith
It's becoming harder not to think about what I've always had faith in. The only clearer indicator would be if moonlight flooded the hospital room every night, as God has always been represented by moonlight to me.
And when I was very sick in the hospital with shunt malfunctions or encephalitus, somehow my faith wrapped me in a warm, safe cucoon. Just like right after the death of my father, at the darkest points in my life, at the saddest and loneliest moments, I feel faith pulling me back.
However much I've tried to find other answers to the cosmic questions, it's impossible to ignore the feeling of being protected, a sense that although things may be terrible and tragic for a while, eventually they will turn out even better than they were before.
This ecperience will change us. It will make us stronger as individuals and as a couple. He'll know he can rely on me, and I'll be rewarded for loving him so much-- with an unwavering devotion. For making a life in the hospital and showering him with affection, Mikel will make me his queen. And after all, what kind of love isn't blind? What kind of love "bends with the remover to remove, or alters when it alteration finds"? We'll get through this.
Michael is my "normal." I loved him before, I love him now, and I will love him forever. If I leave the hospital for even a short time, all I can think about is rushing back to be with him, the man who makes this chatoic life seem sensible. And somehow in the middle of it, thhere is faith. Maybe it's a mistake to label it, or even try to define it. It's a faith in him, a faith in myself, and a faith that somehow at the end of this our life will go back to being beautiful.
And when I was very sick in the hospital with shunt malfunctions or encephalitus, somehow my faith wrapped me in a warm, safe cucoon. Just like right after the death of my father, at the darkest points in my life, at the saddest and loneliest moments, I feel faith pulling me back.
However much I've tried to find other answers to the cosmic questions, it's impossible to ignore the feeling of being protected, a sense that although things may be terrible and tragic for a while, eventually they will turn out even better than they were before.
This ecperience will change us. It will make us stronger as individuals and as a couple. He'll know he can rely on me, and I'll be rewarded for loving him so much-- with an unwavering devotion. For making a life in the hospital and showering him with affection, Mikel will make me his queen. And after all, what kind of love isn't blind? What kind of love "bends with the remover to remove, or alters when it alteration finds"? We'll get through this.
Michael is my "normal." I loved him before, I love him now, and I will love him forever. If I leave the hospital for even a short time, all I can think about is rushing back to be with him, the man who makes this chatoic life seem sensible. And somehow in the middle of it, thhere is faith. Maybe it's a mistake to label it, or even try to define it. It's a faith in him, a faith in myself, and a faith that somehow at the end of this our life will go back to being beautiful.
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