Wednesday, 1 October 2014

Dear Diary: For loving me.

It never ceases to amaze me how completely transitory my memory can be. No sooner do I receive than do I forget, almost instantaneously, what I had formerly spent countless unsettled nights praying for. I reckon that's human nature, something that perhaps will never change.

Some of my biggest blunders may well be the impulsive promises I had so heedlessly professed in what then seemed like desperate troughs of life, only to shamefacedly come to the acknowledgement of not having considered the actual fulfilment of my end of the "sacred" vow. I say this with an appropriate amount of sardonicism, because these days what are promises, save mere words?

Once in a while I do entertain thoughts of bipolarism, not that I at all suspect myself to have such a pronounced condition but because my abrupt mood fluctuations sometimes distress me slightly. And to have someone assure me of a ceaseless, unconditional love nonetheless may well be too much to bear, or at least that is how it feels at times. But I suppose that is what makes His love so astonishingly beautiful, for upon coming to terms with it words only appear superfluous and I am left in hushed silence at this lovely gem I've been so undeservedly given. 

"Thank you", I whisper. But my words were fresh snowflakes on a welcome that was history far preceding.

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