Oh Creator...

I look up in the morning, and I am, for that moment, in awe of two very different ideas, opposing ideas in fact. I am most in awe by the idea of my Creator and the One who created this visual universe. I don't see what other evidence of a Creator is necessary, which moves me towards this other awe: the people who are unsure and the people who are convinced that no such Creator, God, exists. Look up and look around, not to people or man made circumstance around you, but sit and contemplate this world as it is and was sans man. Is this not the greatest masterpiece? If the origin of this world were so disorderly and devoid of purpose, then how have we found orderly units of measure and purpose in our own lives? Can something come from nothing, or are the minds of those we call the most brilliant and enlightened simply the most delusional?
It's strangely such a simple idea for me.

Multiply...

It gets harder and harder every day.
The weight is not added, but multiplied...
not by two, but by ten, twenty and one hundred...
You are too precious.
You are too beautiful.
You must quit so you can persevere.
You have to jump off of this sinking ship to find serenity in this ocean of love.
If you keep giving of yourself like this, what will be left for me?
You have to let go of this so you might grab God's hand...
So do it...

If...

The anxiety is piling on and it's only day one.
I've got no outlet tonight... of all nights.
I am tired and my shoulders are killing me.
My blood pressure is on the fritz lately, and I'm praying it's just because of salty foods. I'm supposed to go to the doctor tomorrow and follow up on that and on the bronchitis I had. This is no good.
I could really go for a talk with you tonight... I really could.
This might be the most difficult night for me yet.
I never need support because I am strong and sturdy, but tonight I do. Unfortunately, tonight I cannot have you. Tonight, like other nights, you are not mine.
I am sad. Yes, me, Raul... I am sad.
Maybe I'll go and cry it out or something, this whole anxiety thing and the mine/not mine thing; toss off the tough guy for a little while and just break.
I'm not used to this. These feelings of weakness are foreign.
There you are, but not for me.
My stomach turns.
Yes, this is the most difficult night yet. This is not an easy fight.

Oh Scarlett...

I cannot even call you mine because in one split second you are theirs... all theirs.
They receive this little white box and there you are inside. It is their box to open wherever and whenever they please, and when that box opens it is their own little drama to play out... they are Steven Spielbergs and Woody Allens... more fittingly they are the latter, and you are their Scarlett Johansson or better yet, their Soon-Yi.
So I could call you mine, but really you are not.
I'd rather say you weren't, but to truly have you be...
Actually, I would much rather truth. I would rather that I say you are mine, and to have it be true.

It's starting to get cold in here...
I'll keep fighting.