Page 132 of Undertow

I’ve spent years transforming myself in circles, but this low feels all too familiar and I’m starting to taste the blood I’ve always drawn from becoming a victim of myself,

I’m a gentle-hearted monster.

It takes all my strength to look in the mirror and identify the cold reflection staring back. Smash the glass. Gouge out the root of the problem. Use the blood to script my story on the page.

Writing in the dark; living even darker.

Finding redemption in a tragic ending.

Living testimony in a silent warning.

-JD August 18

The final entryfrom just days ago taunts me with its prophetic truth. Here I am, dead and buried, holding the tattered evidence of my damaged soul in my hands.

A monster wrote that. A human thumbnail who’s been filed down to nothing by every evil this world has to offer.

“This is the last one,” I say with a grimace.

I glance up, expecting disgust, but his eyes are soft and shining instead. He shakes his head with a vehemence I’ve never seen from the man.

“No. It’s not. Not even close.”

He bends down and flips the page.

A pristine, clean sheet of paper stares back at me.

… No ink.

… No marks.

… No blood.

… No tears.

Innocent. Pure.

“That was whotheywere, Jonah,” he says softly. “Thisis you.”

He places a pen on the blank page.

“Your story starts now.”

There will never be an appropriate time to tell you that I’m leaving.

I don’t expect to hear words of encouragement as the door slams behind me.

I know the echo of that exit will ring through my head for years to come.

We all find silence in due time and sometimes, although not often, we demand it.

We crave it.

We are all yearning to find purpose for our hearts and hands, and even without clarity we can rest assured freedom is out there.

Have you ever thought, though, that maybe the purpose for some pain is the relief of its absence?

That peace and repentance could only exist with the blank page to keep our beating hearts grateful?

When the door shuts,

when I’m no longer stuck with these deafening echoes from my past,

I pray that my hands move with innocence and purpose leaks from my eyes.

May I choose to rest in silence,

I pray that the echoes stay buried with me.

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