If I had a dollar for every time that I have trawled the grocery store aisles looking for love…
Is it in the pasta aisle or next to the ice cream? Maybe it is on a shelf like the jar of peanut butter that wants me to take it home? Perhaps it is nestled in the bakery section between celebratory cakes and coffee-meeting doughnuts. I look every time, just in case. It would be a shame to miss it and go home alone instead.
At a child’s first birthday party, I am the only single person. I am the only childless person. I sit by the table and put cheese into the void where love should go. It sticks to my insides, my thighs and my arteries. Close enough, I think, to what love does. It mimics the comfort of romance and a hand to hold through the bleak winter for a millisecond before it becomes more regret. It pretends for a moment to be the arms I never feel around me or the kisses that have not filled my days. It seems like the love I have been searching for all my life long.
I ask God when he is going to be there for me. When some of the dreams I have held dear, clung to, fought for might come to be. He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t show up when I need him most. In the dark, crawling hours of distress, He is not there. When I cry out in the endless night for redemption, I am met with silence. When I beg for salvation, for deliverance, there is only the emptiness echoing back at me.
No matter. ED is here, always. Faithful friend; companion of many years; lover of my desperately, lonely heart.