86,400 Clicks around the Clock (Personal)

Personal Writing 2 

old vintage clock

It’s funny how I am sitting here now, these twenty-fours hours have passed, and my thoughts have led me on a trail through our university, to the appalachian mountains, across the united states and into the midwest and back around all over just to prove that my intentions of creating a routine path on campus had succeeded. Someone had noticed. I never knew it, but he had noticed me.


You see, I don’t really understand why this man had waited until the late summer after his college graduation to profess his liking for me. The pressure we currently feel, from this newfound flirtation that has broken the surface-level intimacy, would have felt easier to deal with if it had emanated in person, over a cup of coffee, as per desired. Yet things do not go how we intend. Now, I am sitting and pathetically waiting to receive an instagram direct message notification, from a man I do not officially know.

Within my mind, his typed out words are beautifying the walls of my paper-colored, blood-stained skull; he is upset because he never mustered up the courage to introduce himself, usually his confidence comes fluently. He writes to me, “I always got cold feet with you.” I blink at the screen. Why is my face flooding with warmth? Why is my head heavy? I feel like the bones in my ankles have just been broken–twisted up and above my ears–and I am floating within everything I do not know, everything I have never known, but yet my body is steady and I am ready to conquer any emotion that may result from this catastrophic, newfound crush. What is happening? The air feels tight, I am spinning, yet I am frozen in time all the same. Why now? Why are he and I six hundred miles away? Is this some sort of game? “Hey, down there on Earth! Yeah, try to solve this relationship, this guy may possibly be the one, but I have made the timing of your interaction inconvenient, this is going to be great!” Thanks God.


*breathe in*

*breathe out*



Everything I am writing to him is so fluent, so honest, so open and straight from the heart, but my words are foreign from my previous thought processes. This feels so natural.


I’m out. This is going to be terrible, terrible, terrible. This is not real. This could be real. If this is worthwhile, it will probably fold out into another life lesson to lead me towards where I am supposed to go, but I cannot find the strength to endure more tears from a man I wholeheartedly trust and then let him tear me apart. I cannot do it. If this is worthwhile, if this man is worth a lifetime of love, dedication, the debts of owning a house, the pains from childbirth, a midlife crisis, debates about religion, heartfelt sadness and depression when my parents pass away, finances for illness, if this man will be there through the thick, swallowing mud of the devil sucking me under into Hell-on-Earth, then let him stay. If the answer is no–please God, give me a clear answer–then let us separate with no pain or regret.


I’ve come to the conclusion that I think too much.


photo credit: https://www.theodysseyonline.com/wait-gods-timing (as well as an intriguing article worth your while)


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