Pages and People and Souls

I just finished reading Lynda Van Devanter's Home Before Morning and wept. I wanted to weep for hours, simply because her story touched something inside of me. It reminds me of just how easily we forget about others...or maybe just how I do. I forget that I'm not the only person undergoing a serious identity crisis, a displaced feeling, a loneliness that ebbs in and out of my conscious thought each day...I feel fallen, like a giant regression into someone completely unlike myself, but the mirror tells me otherwise. I wish that I could take back my former fears...that I could have allowed myself the happiness that I deserved and wanted. But I cannot, only move forward and onward and beyond what I can possibly imagine for the future. I can only learn and feel and reason in a moment and cannot cannot cannot take back anything said or thought or done or undone. I can wish; wishing does nothing. Sometimes, I hope for the opportunity to have it all swirl back around and face me, so that the walls can crumble in just a moment. But walls rarely crumble quickly - the only wall that must fall between here and that ideal moment is the sad little wall between doubt and truth and faith in what matters. But, somehow, that is the hardest wall of all.