I don’t have the time right now to cry for you, since you won’t make the time to cry for you.

Your friend and I have been consulting. Your friend, my friend, our friend.
We’re both trying to deal with your situation, because it doesn’t seem like you’re dealing with it.
I have the deck.

Two weeks and then I’m doing something.
Is two weeks too much time, will it be too late?
Two weeks is enough time for you to find out whether or not God has healed you.
With faith to move mountains, he can surely heal a tumor.
But God doesn’t always work the way we expect…and I don’t know what you expect.
But, it may not happen the way you want, and then…then I have to pray that you love us enough to understand that we love you enough to want you to live.

Two weeks.
Then I’ll tell you everything I think. Will I have time? I’ll have to have time. You’ll have to have time…Because in two weeks, you’ll either be healthy, or still dying but finally acknowledging it for the world to see.

How are you so calm?

Because if you stopped for a moment to think about it, you’d never pull yourself together.
I wish you felt safe enough to let yourself fall apart.
I wish I was there so that you could fall apart.
I wish I could be there to love you, unconditionally, to ease you from this time of nonstop rush without a thought, to actually thinking, accepting, suffering, and getting through this.

I want you to get through this.

I love you, so get through this.



Filed under Various writing

2 responses to “Survive.

  1. Strangely on point as I wait to go home and grieve.

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