Strange. Tonight I am filled with the desire to be a sacrilegous Mary and out of shame bear a child to save me from loneliness. Women and our desires to have children... It's the most miraculous thing in the world, the formation of a child from next to nothing within a human being.. It's hope; it's love; it's a hand to guide.
Worry not. Unless God again decrees a virgin birth- and through me, at that- then I am rather barren.
In a few ways.
Perhaps- excuse the terrible comparison- I need only await the time when a good wind concieves hope and I may birth a new joy that is unknown to me. For all intents and purposes, though I have this concrete me, I inhabit it in a small, stuffy, lonely room, locked in by a lack of basic well-being. I do not use the me I have- though it is clearly present and regularly so. Yes, my me is here, but it is anemic, tethered down, and loveless.