A Flickering Flame

I bend back the golden-feathered blue cover to a journal I have had on hand, and write. A teddy bear – big and brown – lies beside me. Pride and Prejudice floats upon a black comforter waiting to be read for the first time. Jewels wink at me like secrets; gems incased in letters fitting to sentences like diamonds in an engagement ring. I write though I came to read, to unearth charms movies cannot express. Will Mr. Darcy steal my dreams? Will Elizabeth become my best friend? Only persistence will tell. I wish I could say with certainty that the position of “bestfriend” is currently occupied…but, a girl of flaxen hair who I had once gifted the title has been lately distant. No wonder we are image-bearers of God because I can feel and understand a glimpse of his sorrow when beloved friends slink away into the darkness. In my mind, I see her and myself swimming in a crystalline lake. The water is cool, refreshing; but, like a dismal sensation, a grey fog creeps over the waters. Knowing the way to shore, I swim straight as the mist engulfs us. A current pulls at my legs while she falls behind, and as I am spit up on the sand – soaked but safe – she is swallowed. To venture back into the water would be suicide, so all I can do is light a lamp and hold it near the shoreline, praying she will see it shining, calling out her names, hoping the current that pushed my own weak legs to safety will push her to me, to the light.

This is where my best-friendship is: lost in the murkiness of little hope, but my lap is still burning. It will never flicker or fade because it is love. My love alone is not sufficient. I throb with an unquenchable fire which God has ignited in my heart. My hope is that she recognizes it for what it is before it is too late. An enemy prowls the waters. Deep beneath the opaque, onyx waves, he lingers. He avoids the current lest he is exposed to the shallow, translucent waters. I pray, oh how I pray, the current pulls her to me. Otherwise, I will be left with the Bennets as my closest friends and they, afterall, are only ink pressed to paper.



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