Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

A Long Week’s End

29. Wagner, Paul Hermann - Ewig Dein

“O lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;
O press it close to thine again
Where it will break at last!”

Dear Darling,

It’s late in the afternoon, but it should be dark…as dark outside as it feels inside my heart. I’m fatigued and irritable, and probably shouldn’t be writing. I’ve logged a lot of hours again, in a concentrated amount of time. Indeed, I’ve had time for nothing but eating, sleeping and working since the beginning of the week. It’s been less rewarding than usual, with sickos, psychos, crazies, druggies and suicidals all landing in my care.

A dangerous strain of thought is developing in my weary mind as I search for equilibrium, clarity and peace. An inactionable concept that blunts the servanthood I’ve tried to strive for: “I deserve better.” I deserve better than the people who have rejected me, turned on me, abandoned me. I deserve better than the girl who offered a warm touch from afar and then turned savage. I deserve better than the girl who is shown more kindness and attention than any in a long time and who offers nothing in return. I deserve better than the girl who showed kindness as a prelude for rejection, who caused a foolish and temporary storm of the mind upon an accidental discovery of her pending nuptials. (Don’t mistake me Darling, I’m not pining after these people. I’m simply pondering in amazement the shades with which they reflect your character and how quickly they dispel them.) The problem is, I care too much and too soon. I show it too soon, and too capably, and people don’t return it, or don’t know how.

I don’t deserve to spend exhaustively mind-numbing hours in service to the sick, dealing with threats and bribes and crimes, to stumble home, eat, shower and sleep alone as the sun rises on a golden hoard, whose idea of a bad day is the wrong flavor of coffee or a hostile demand from a (perfectly healthy) customer. To have no one understand, and then to hear them complain about their days. Alegfast spins off a few production videos before trotting off to banquets, potlucks and parties with his friends. He makes great money and has fewer cares than I, while I log such long hours to make ends meet.

I don’t deserve to lack any meaningful extended family, or to have lost an older sibling to his own ignorance.

I don’t deserve to be treated they way I have been, by any of them. “I deserve better.” Life isn’t about what I want. It can’t be. Not my will, not your will, but God’s will. Naturally, you and I will find a great deal of what we want within this pursuit, but like the psalmist before me, I cannot help but marvel that those who try less seem oft to profit more. I’m trying not to hold silly and selfish resentment against the people who focus on their own lives, even against the example I’ve tried to set of spotchecking up on them and inquiring after their well-being.

I need to find someone to restore my wounded and wilting soul. I’be had a bad week, my dear, terribly bad When I get like this, I need love and tenderness, attention and affection. I need my heart bathed in kindness, washed in compassion. I know I would offer the same to any heart that needs it, I just know it. But the problem with such giving is that people consign you to that role and forget you need the same. But I do need it. I need someone attentive to me, who can see when I’ve had a bad day and makes it her job to remedy it as best she can…just as I have done and will do for her. Without being asked, told or prompted.

Christmas so far is looking its bleakest. I’m trying to make the most of it, and it isn’t as if I won’t have the week off or a family to spend it with. But for now, it’s a bachelor’s Christmas. There’s nary a decoration here. In fact, Alegfast has sold the house and we have to find new quarters by next month. The furniture is disappearing as he sells it, and I’m far too short on time and funds to decorate. I know my family is far too stressed to spend adequate time thinking of what to buy me, although I put time and thought into my gifts and had them purchased weeks ago. Somehow, the transition between receiving from Santa and becoming Santa has felt less magical than I might have thought. It’d be nice to find a nice snowy escape, as silent and peaceful as a shepherd’s hillside near Bethlehem must have been. Some time to leave myself and the world behind and let the real meaning of the season creep back in.

It’s not as though I haven’t things to do these days. I’m invited to a masquerade ball tonight…but only with a friend. I’m invited to a Christmas Dance tomorrow night…but only with my family. The friend group has stopped inviting me out to dinner with them after church. Probably because I’ve declined so many times. I just don’t feel like faking it. There’s two nurses, a doctor and a medical technician there, and none of them find common ground with me — nor do they try — despite shared backgrounds.

I’ve had a bizarre run of solicitations also, one from a friend who is a nurse and easily has fifteen years on me and has turned from decent friend to slightly hopeful suggestions. A colleague last night asked how old I was, and in that tone of voice that made one suspect greater than idle curiosity lurked underneath. Another girl at church outright asked me out. I commended her courage, which I know is nigh heroic to take such a leap, while deftly and gently letting her down.

We all tire of the in-betweens and near-misses my dear…and although they flatter, I take no joy in them. How can you settle for the imitation when you know the real thing is out there wearing shoes and sighing away her own nights?

How you must hate so often to read of my misfortunes, mishaps and unhappiness…not least of which because you are unable to do anything about it! Ah well. Our future, like our house, is out there somewhere, like a treasure box of memories in store. Hold true, my dear. It won’t be long.

Beren

December 13, 2013 - Posted by | Holidays, Loneliness, Uncategorized | , , , ,

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