Dear little Savannah,
One day, maybe I will realize that there is a time for everything, and just as unforgiving winters surface after a plentiful harvest, so do trials emerge after a stint of small blessings.
I don't know what to tell you, little one. I want to tell you that a happy ending comes to the quiet, kind peasant girl who loves her family and sacrifices her time and money to help provide for them. I want to tell you that Cinderella meets her prince at his concert and he falls in love with her as she bobs to his music in the crowd. I want to tell you that the evil queen dies and goodness fills the earth, once and for all.
Nothing comes to those who wait patiently and the meek will only inherit the earth after they suffer incredible hardship first, waiting and waiting for the bad guy to be vanquished.
Wishing on coincidences in clocks and filling your heart with big dreams will only end up crushing you later. Oh please, God, remember this!
Oh, God, I can feel my ribs crack and splinter under the pressure these impossible dreams put on my too-large heart.
You will slave away your days in jobs where people feel entitled to trample you under their boots if you don't satisfy their every whim. You will exhaust yourself collecting pennies to save for that great big dream of yours, only to have that money ripped from you when another inevitable disaster strikes.
God, what use is this waste of life?
No one gives a shit what happens to you and your impossible dreams. They cast fleeting, pitiful glances your way when tragedy strikes, but no one steps in to help you.
God hears you, but He doesn't respond, yet.
He waits.
And waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Until you wonder if perhaps He's forgotten and moved on.
And that's how everyone is. Everyone forgets about you, about me, about our stupid dreams and the urging of our heart.
Maybe it's better that way.
I don't want to wake up tomorrow.
Savannah.
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