2.25.2020

I miss sitting on the lake with Mrs. M. Her dock pointed out onto the water. If I could choose a new grandmother, I thought, one who was alive, she’d be it. She and Mrs. Sue.

There were globs of sunshine floating on the surface of the water in front of her house. And though no one here in California would probably know how comforting it is to drive a car with windows down listening to classic rock, and getting sunburnt on the dock and swatting away mosquitoes, hearing everyone talk about Jesus…that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes just long for it.

The beauty and the problem, perhaps, with the particular southern state from which I’ve come is that there is so much history in that land. There’s longing in the trees.

Sometimes I’d walk around our house and think about the civil war or people around who died ages before that, probably, on my property. That if not for the grace of God, people could rush around killing people all the time, every day. Even by the old swing set and chicken coop they could kill people. Again, if not for the grace of God.

There isn’t memory, loss, heartbreak, love here in Los Angeles. Unless it’s loss of purity that you can sense all over the streets; the corruption innocence and originality. It isn’t a noble place, Los Angeles.

Even at home I’m sad sometimes. Just wanting things fixed. People together. People happy. Wanting things that I can’t have. Missing people whom I want to miss. Maybe the problem with homeschool life and a small church was that I’m used to friends being people I’ve known for years.

I’m used to every community feeling like family. I’m not used to starting from the ground up.

Finally, at the age of twenty-two, it’s getting to the point where I really, truly want love.

But most of the time, men are people who exhaust rather than inspire.

And that feeling of aloneness is so rich and real and deep.

I’ve just become obsessed with a photo of young Bernie Sanders. His politics scare me sometimes, but his face. I look into that face and see someone familiar and perhaps even beautiful, in a way. A very sort of kind face, yet intelligent. One that I could sit down and talk about books with and he’d understand.

Lord, there are women under your wings who are longing for Gentle.

Make me patient as I wait.

I’m homesick, but it’s not for a house.

It’s for a home.