I didn’t feel I was enough. Also. I kept feeling I wasn’t enough for him.
Strangely enough, he wasn’t enough for me. I knew he was trying. He would call me. Usually after midnight. I was always up late. We talked late into the night. And sometimes in the middle of a conversation, I would just pause and look at the ceiling and breathe. Do nothing but breathe. And indulge in the moment. Cause I was happy to be with him. But sometimes he’d be falling asleep on me. And breaking my heart in the process. Cause I always wanted us to talk for longer. Have deeper conversations (about what? I’m not too sure. I just felt there had to be deeper topics than what we discussed on the norm) Say more to each other. Get to know each other better. It just wasn’t enough.
Three hours wouldn’t do it. I would go to bed with a gnawing. Wanting to call back. Wishing he would force himself to stay talking to me. Wishing that he wanted to talk as much as I did. And that he felt as much. I’m not sure if he did. I always felt A WHOLE LOT. I felt too much. I felt more than enough.
I felt it had to stop. I had to put an end to my perpetual dissatisfaction. There was a legion of demons starving inside of me. Craving something.
I found it. Not by accident. But by a diligent search. I sought solace. I sought satisfaction. I sought home (whatever that is, I haven’t yet defined). I sought rest. And I really did find it. I sought the place where my soul would roll over on its side, from a climax of joy. And I found it. I found Jesus. I found my maker. I found the beauty of fellowshipping with One who knew every crater, every hole, every dent in my heart and how to fill them. He could fill me to my brim. Because He made me. And He knew me. He was enough.
And then I knew. Because I had found Him.
I was enough too.
But he answered and said, It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.