Melon-collie (hehe)

She stared at the darlings holding hands in front of her walking down the sidewalk, and she felt lonelier than ever. She wanted to write a heart-wrenching, hand-wringing, tear-jerking, earth-shattering poem about it, only she couldn't; it would be dishonest. Her feelings were not so violent. No, she was still upright, walking, healthy, happy, almost. There was simply a melancholic weight that had settled in the middle of her chest, and it sometimes made it hard to sleep. When that happened, a cup of hot, chamomile tea usually did the trick.  But sometimes, the blues struck her hard. Nothing saps happiness out a girl's heart faster than the blues. She felt lost. There seemed to be a thousand directions she could take, but none of them led to the horizon, and all seemed to end in a downward trajectory, plummeting straight to the earth. There were only two people in the world she wanted to talk to about it. The first, He was quiet. Well, maybe not quiet so much as vague. The other, well, he was the reason for the melancholy. She couldn't talk to him. It seemed that she would have to be patient with her introspection until she could find some answers.
This, however, made her sigh. It's hard to be half-way lonely for a very long time.

Enough

It's a little scary
To post something about
God.
Omnipotent
Just
Merciful
Kind....

It's intimidating because I can't even
Begin to scratch the surface on
This character.
There's some feelings of                      inadequacy
swirling around.
But then I recall a story within a story.

There was a woman who                      reached out
To touch the hem of His robe.
He turned around
and made her whole.

In this confusing world of virtual and real
Where it's so easy
For one to be wounded so
Deeply,
I sometimes forget that
All that is needed is for me to                reach out
And He will heal me.

[ ]

Once again, it was a brisk, fall morning, and she felt alive again. Only this time, it was different. The spark was late this year. The air didn't start to breath with her until it was nearly October. Nonetheless, she enjoyed the prolonged warmth that came with the extra days of a waning summer. However, on this particular day, she ran down her front porch steps and headed to her morning class. She rounded a corner and saw the fish-bowl school building sitting atop a nice, grassy knoll.  She tried to think of a more descriptive word for the hill than 'nice', but decided against it.
     "It's perfectly alright to call it 'nice', because I've already called it a 'knoll' and that's eloquent enough. We can't be too flowery with our language now, can we?"
She wasn't sure who she was talking to because she was alone. It didn't matter though, because just then, she looked down and saw the chilled fall breeze dance around her loose, purple shirt. She felt very bohemian.
Later that night, she sat in the new chair at the kitchen table, again by herself. She thought about how she preferred her old, busted chair, and a man she had seen who had two prosthetic legs.
     "That must be what it's like to not have words." she thought quietly to herself, "You must just feel broken inside, with no way to fix it because you don't have words."
She was saddened by the thought, and felt sorry for the broken man and the crippled chair. She didn't know if she would see the chair again, or where it went; probably to the dump, and there was nothing that poor chair could do about it. She knew she'd see the man again. She thought the next time she did, she might ask him how he'd feel if he didn't have words.