Rust

If I could lay here, if I could let our worries seep into the sand beneath our heads, like soap that runs through the halls of a sponge, like bad habits that creep insidiously through the chasm that is our heads, then I'd take you to places that had no names. And we'd be in silence, but it wouldn't be empty. It'd be devoid of familiarity, but it'd be warm.

Throughout my whole term, it was easy to ignore the fact that I wasn't doing a good job. Because he wasn't here to remind me of the standard. He wasn't here to provide the model answer. But when you hold us both against the light, the paleness of my skin and the smoothness of my hands come into full view. He's tall, and he's speaks as if he has seen the future, and he knows he is going to be something big. He's clever, well-respected, responsible, capable. He is a leader. He was my leader. And he is twice the leader I will ever be.

The past few weeks have been tough mainly because of the thoughts that have run unrestrained in my brain. I feel ashamed of myself. For being bad at my job, for being bad at many things, and most of all, for making this term horrible for the people who have worked under me. 

I cannot count the many times I let myself down. There exists a division between the person I want to be and the person I have become. And I don't even know where God fits into all this anymore. He's waiting on the periphery of my timeline as I try to convince myself that I'll get back to him when the crazy dies down. Let me get back to you on that, I say. I'd have to schedule you in.

It's been awhile since I've last written here. There are too many things to say, but not enough eloquence to justify doing so. Give me some oil to lubricate my hinges. I will creak and moan no more.