I can't believe it.

My first year of college is coming to a close.
I feel like I just got here, like I have a lot of time. But I quite clearly do not.
Sketchhh.

Pause.

I'm writing to you in the thick of my second all-nighter in three days.

I've had to have a marathon of heart to hearts with my best friends.

I had a visit from my mother, which was wonderful, but included a surprise group therapy session where all of my dirty laundry was aired out to my friend and her mom at the Green Gateau, and I received advice and pity from people I didn't want to share my problems with in the first place.

I have had several increasingly difficult conversations with the man I love since April 15th.

I've fallen asleep crying one day, and smiling the next.

I've been sick and healthy, lazy and productive, shallow and deep - depends on the hour.

I need a pause. Time to rest. Time to pray. Time to think.

But life is not kind enough to stop for a moment so that I can breathe.

Agape.

Agape means love. But it's more complicated and specific than that. Agape is the term for a perfect love, a forgiving love, the kind of love that God feels for His children. I am not referring to romantic love, so those of you who are tired of my posts about angst and love, this is not one of those posts. And I thank you all for your patience. I strive to be someone who is poised and balanced and wise. But on this blog, I have been far from that. I have been stormy, emotional, paradoxical, and, worst of all, flowery. These are trespasses which are inexcusable and out of line with my character and my mind. I have been . . . scattered lately.

Tonight I am here to discuss something that I have come close to abandoning. My faith. It really pains me to be typing this. I have found myself in a space in life where I leave no time, no thought for spirituality. I have closed my heart to the perfect love, the love of God, and I am numb. And I hate it.

Still Water.

Still Water runs deep?

Perhaps still water only hides a tumultuous feeling underneath

or perhaps still water does run deep, because the hurts have drilled so deeply, water is trying to fill the new space.

Tonight, I feel everything and nothing at once. Red hot anger and numbness. Hostility and compassion. I'm hurt, but I can't put my hurt into words.

Maybe I shouldn't have watched Breakfast at Tiffany's, I'm being so Capote. I feel like hiding out in a small, dark, overtly decorated apartment bedroom writing sensitive, deeply-felt prose with a typewriter, cold coffee, and a full ashtray . . . I don't even smoke. Ha.

Anyone who claims love is easy is full of shit. That's a fact.

. . . is anybody there? I feel like I'm talking into a void.