Tears well up in my eyes. I know that there's nothing else left to do but sleep. Ah, sleep. Preparation each night for the time when we will be laid peacefully in a box, tucked in with a satin sheat and pillow, and have a lid closed upon our lives. Fortunately, when that lid closes, my eyes will at least be dry. Perhaps there will be damp cheeks on the faces outside my box, but within my box I will be happy, restful, at peace. Even if I'm not in that box, I will still have joy so extreme that it will obliterate all memories of tears. How strange to continue on past that oh-so-important point, leaving behind the comfort of God's eternal presence for the self-pity of the present. How tragic that all I want is to be comforted, but the One most able to comfort, I turn away from.
Screw You