My heart; the dishrag and other things about summer’s end:

It is time to say goodbye to the season and pack it away in its beach bag for the next year. Goodbye, goodbye. 
Mostly, what I want to remember when I look back on this moment is that I was trying really hard. And sometimes hard work doesn’t yield the results to the field of newly planted dreams. Sometimes it’s the sun or the rain or the soil that makes it happen. Or not. And no matter how hard you stare at the sprouts, you can’t will them to grow. Time, patience, letting go. You did the work-let god take care of the rest.
If you could see my heart now, it would be eerily white and pale. All blood gone, a ghost of vibrancy. I’ve wrung my hands til they were sore and willed god to answer prayers. I’ve twisted my heart in all directions in hopes to make room. All that’s happened is this bloodless mess. These swollen hands. This tiny voice of hope getting fainter and fainter still. 
It seems all I’m good for now is sopping up spilled milk in the kitchen and being washed and re-washed for industrial wear and tear. My heart was built for hard work, normal work, letting go and never keeping. Goodbye, goodbye.
Not all of us get the things we dream about. 
Not all hearts are held sacred and special.
Not all prayers are answered.
Not all summer’s are equal.
But I’m fine, and these are just musings. Small little words that maybe you feel too for something in your life. This is no white banner waving or a call to arms. This is just a subtle noticing about where I fit and how I thought it would be different for me. I write it so it lives outside instead of in. The feeling washes away like water once I write it down. Letting go looks different for all of us