Someone is whistling in perfect pitch, so lovely that I wonder if it’s a person at all.
I’m walking carefully over the gravel, backpack heavy against my shoulders. The sun is long gone, the end of another beautiful day, a hard day. The wind is getting bitter and I tug at the sleeves of my cardigan, willing it to be longer, pulling it over my cold hands. And there’s that whisper, that whisper from deep inside of me:
Where are you, God?
What are you doing? It’s hard to tell from here, stuck inside my head.
Because, see, I’m feeling a little lonely in this place. It’s very big and I am feeling very, very small. And I’m tired of not feeling seen. Why do I feel like I’m not seen? I know people see me more than I think they do.
And there are people who are already going on coffee dates and thinking he could be the one someday, and I’m over here wondering why don’t they see me?
And as I’m tromping along, face into the wind, God speaks.
You are not the kind of girl who is only liked.
I pause, feet in gravel, wind stirring in my hair.
Um, what? God, did you say something?
You aren’t the “liking” kind.
Um, haha, okay God. That’s great, but what the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to insult me?
I thought I heard a belly chuckle. Oh Hannah.
You are the kind of girl whose existence must be loved.
There is no halfway with you, sweetheart. You are a head-over-heels-down-a-flight-of-stairs kind of girl. You make them blush and stammer and grin every time they look at your face. You make them clench their fists so they don’t reach out to touch your hair, your face, the small of your back. Dearest, you are charming and lovely and wild, and you need a very special kind of man. One who is going to be curious and thoughtful and brave, exceptionally brave. A weak swimmer would drown in the depths of your soul. You need more than a swimmer, you need a scuba diver. A man who will fearlessly face the waves.
That kind of man is sometimes slow to act, thoughtful, and he breathes deep and long before he dives headfirst. Sometimes he knows what he wants right away, but maybe right now he doesn’t. Take your time, sweet girl, there’s no rush. Love takes time. Not right now does not mean never.
Not right now does not mean never.
And so I stood, wind blowing, mind silent, giving myself the space to be.