Reading back on my old entries, I see a lot of how my lif’e's developed not only since high school, but even since last year when I started dating Jason. I’ve also read over a lot of my old entries and figured out that … I’m actually a pretty good writer. Well, at least when it comes to prose. Real authors probably aren’t fans of their own writing, so maybe I’ve got a little way to go before I can be considered a real author, but I miss my days of writing creative prose. My old entry using Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken as the centerpiece of my writing is my current favorite, and I think this is exactly what I’m going to use this blog for: writing prose. I’ll try my hand at it right now.
Heart Justice
The clock is long past midnight, and daylight has long left the mountaintops’ peaks. People would say that the reasons for her remaining awake at such an hour could be attributed to her time in life: college. O, those days of fraternities and long all-nighters and clubbing and short all-nighters. College. The time of life that seems to define a person’s whole entity.
Yet what keeps her awake is neither the sound of parties outside her window nor the strains of a final the next morning. No, the insomnia comes from a cold that begins outside with the weather, and seeps into her organs until it touches the center of her heart.
She shivers.
Pink fluffiness and spotted sheep cover her pajamas as she sits, wondering how to write the emotions that her own mind can’t comprehend or express. Blankness? Emptiness? It’s coming back. She wonders whether people have had this experience before.
Somehow the cold coins resting at her right hand say something about her. Money and fame and understanding. Of the three, no one could ever guess which was the most important to her. O, how she longs. Longs for …
A football game with the family tomorrow. The first time at an actual live football game. Perhaps the thrill will shock her heart back into motion. Maybe the excitement will bring some kind of heat back into her being. Football: a game of violence and anger over… over what? A rubber ball that needs to end up at one of the two ends of the field. She shakes her head in wonder at the capacity of human “creativity.”
Is this what it comes to? Has human life reached a point where the pinnacle of excitement and devotion come from raving fans at a game of competition and brute force? Songs are sung and faith is declared, but in the end, a heart of stone moves nowhere.
They say a rolling stone gathers no moss.
Move the stone hearts, God. Give men hearts of flesh again, and teach us how to remember what we look like.
James 1:22-27
