That Ringing Bell

He is with me. He is with me. He is with me.

When I feel I can’t hold it in any longer, or when I walk an extra mile home; when days pass and I go through in a daze;

When I can barely listen because my own head is filled with noise, when I can’t hear because I drown out life with songs I barely understand;

When I scream on the inside and I would rather not speak, for fear of releasing a dam of untold secrets; when my mind is crowding out love and generosity and sympathy because of my fixation on my worries;

When I only engage in shallow things, refusing to go deep, refusing to think; when I’m tired of thinking,

He is with me.

I get a thought that He walks closely behind me, quietly surveying my thoughts. Quietly negating those lies. Quietly holding me close, when things get a little harder and there’s no room to lock in silent anguish.

I get a tiny warm feeling somewhere at my core, that amidst the noise that surround me and the noise that I make, a piercing warm light like the sun through the cracks. He’s here, He’s close, my thoughts are not hidden, my heart is examined. The cold that envelops my mind in the disappointments I’ve started to lean on; slowly melt, slowly, ever so slowly.

And His presence is like a tiny sound, barely imperceptible through all the walls put up, yet for a brief moment more real than anything in reality;

He is with me.


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