Church

Mya seeks God for comfort

My peace was short lived. The second Alex walked in, everything came back. The permanent lump in my throat grew back like swelling tonsils. Mortified.

The youth group was supposed to search every storage closet in the church for Christmas decorations. I had no motivation. I stood in Coy Hall (social gym in the church) acting like I had something to do.

I felt the piano calling my name as I stood there. I hadn’t played in years. I always thought that was my passion, but I found myself wanting a pencil and paper more than the keys and reflecting sounds of a piano. I’d almost forgot about the piano with my passion for words that don’t speak with sound.

I was alittle taken off guard that I wanted to play again, but I never deny a call. If I did I wouldn’t be a writer.

I sat down at the piano. I ran my fingers over the keys trying to remember a song I learned. They were similar to the notes in “Begin Again” on the guitar. I started to play. The notes were slow enough for me to think before each move. I murmured the lyrics to the song.

I finished the song, just as Alex came in. My life is a really bad Lifetime movie. Cues and irony at every corner. Somehow I’m able to predict my life now.

“Hey, Anne needs you downstairs,” he said walking by. Anne was one of our leaders. The demanding one who always needs us to do something. I really didn’t want to get up and go work.

At least he didn’t hear me playing.

“Oh, by the way, nice playing. I never knew you could,” he smiled. I Stan corrected. Of course he did.

I pained myself to get up. We decorated Coy Hall like Santa’s house made for little kids. I could feel the warm fuzzy feeling trying to push its way into my body, but the hurt kicked it out every chance it stepped in. It hurt every time the feeling was kicked out; like I was getting the blow.

I remembered the week Alex I spent together on Christmas Break last year. I remember we went ice skating with my family. He met my whole family for the first time and they loved him. We painted my bedroom walls. We planned out Thursday, January 24^th, 2012. We even celebrated our three month anniversary at the place we got together.

Of course painting my room was where I really fell in love with him. I don’t remember a specific time, but I remember the way we played off each other was magic. Cheesy, Disney magic. Even with my depression, every ounce of me loved him.

But now, the love is grinding my body to nothing but a hollow shell. I would catch him looking at me the way he used to, as we set up the decor. His eyed missed my smile at the sight of him, his lips longed for mine to touch his once more, the tension of his hands that urged to hold me again. I could see how much he still longed for me, but I could also see how much his old thoughts conflicted with his desires.

I wondered if mine were that visible to him. I hoped not. Mine probably looked pathetic. I continued to try and hide it.

I still love him so much, but right now, he was Megan’s. And if that’s what would make him happy, so be it. I’d see to it that he was happy. If you really love someone, you have to think of them before yourself. So, he’s gone. And if he loved me too as much as I did him, he’d come back. But I wouldn’t count on it, yet.

I prayed for his love again, and I knew God heard me, but I also knew that now wasn’t our time. Maybe later on in life, as told to me in one of those dreams. The thought of waiting made me want to love him still, but also made me live with the hurt of him being gone.

I guess I just have to live with what is here and now.