Innerdialects

She brings me her drawing book, “Draw something, na. I heard you paint.”

Its been a while since I sketched but her eyes draw me into them – midnight velvet eyes, breathless for dawn. Its a hospital, I do not ask what she’s feeling, what’s going on in her young life, is youth as beautiful to her as I see her? Is she well, is she healing? Is school good?

“Ya.” She replies.

After I finish the sketch, its an older version of her. “I’m looking at my future self,” The words fall like hope.

Life’s a beast. I hate its nasty places, its traits of cancer, its ugly needles. And there is Beauty. Like the kiss of God, falling new emotions in my eyes. Unsure why am trembling. She asks me to sign my name. The pencil goes dumb. My name. I’m thinking of hers. I want to write a prayer, not my name. Wanta write life, a wellspring of eternal joy. Want to give her joy – can another human do that – I try. Maybe she’ll understand, maybe she prays too. She nods. I whisper a prayer. She nods. We are thick with that moment of sheer peace. Dearest Lord, let this child, this young girl know You, know You Know You, my Wellspring of Eternal amazing ness, Eternal Sap, Eternal deathless life, in the future, and here, Now.

She exhales like an Amen. I get the Nudge we will meet again.

🍃