As I pour my mourning coffee the sun strikes my eyes and I look up out the window. There it is. The meticulously kept truck of a now dead man. It hurts my eyes and my heart to see it. Suddenly my coffee tastes sour, the sun is not bright. The tears pour down like a spring storm, unstoppable, out of nowhere.
Looking at the truck it appears brand new, never driven, never kept out in the elements. Looking at the truck the torment, the pain, the fear, the demons of the man who once drove it do not show. The man who kept his truck looking prestine, looking perfect, looking loved.
He was a man whose heart held love for everyone except himself. He controlled this anti-love. He was intentional with how he allowed himself to feel. He lead the tango with his feelings and his demons. He refused love our way; he required it his way; he was in the lead. In the end he died, not his way, held tightly viced in his demon lovers' grips while they lead the last dance.
Seeing his truck, the love for him cries out, my way. The anger towards his demons come out, my way. Now joy bubbles up that the tango is ended . He can now rest. His soul can now accept all the love for him, not in his way.
The shower of tears have stopped as quickly as they started. Birds are singing, the grass is glistening. The sun is shining on the meticulously kept truck I stand staring and smiling at while I drink my morning coffee.
If you or someone you love is controlled by addiction, please seek help before the demons take the lead one last time.