Shake.

Hands shaking like the alcoholic sitting in front of their demon longing to reach out and take just one drink. It would melt away the pain. It would ease just a moment of the thoughts that crash into my soul.

 My drink isn't in a glass or bottle. My drink lives in my head. Shot after shot swallowed. A mental game with myself. Trying to drink away those thoughts with the quick shot of spiritual maturity. My whiskey that burns my throat are the hallow prayers I know I won’t obey in the morning. My crutch is the stench of my holiness. I’d rather taste the burn of the night then wait for the sweetness that comes with the morning light. 

Proudly I proclaim my own self to free and how I know better. But in the dark of the night when my pride falls away and my weakness is exposed all my knowing is proven empty. Instead I shake again, wanting my drink, resisting moment to moment, fearful of the next fall.  I can’t control it. I can’t make the grief live on my time table. It attacks me at its own moment. In moments I can’t control. 

Waves of tears cascade down my already stained face. Pieces of anger attach to my eyes and blur everything I see. The battle between hopelessness and faith is constant. I can’t even write it down. It is my secret flask hidden in my coat. Buried deep into my heart. I can’t look at it though, not yet. I know when that flask is opened everything will crash. But I CAN’T do it. You sit next me. Watching me shake. Knowing my hand is itching for that glass. 

You sit next to me and hold my hand after I cave and I take the drink, failing again. You let me sob and trench your sleeves in tears. I can’t stop. The tears pour out harder and harder. Burning my face more than alcohol would burn my throat. You are silent, no words, and no noises, even your breath is so slight my ears cannot hear it but you are there.  You are there. Knowing the battle lines I walk are not easy. You just stay. 

I know you could take away the struggle. You could shatter the glass I hold. You could make my desire for the sweetness of truth the one I crave. I know you could bind my rebellious angry heart. I know you could move me, take me away from this place, but you aren't. You are sitting next to me requiring nothing from me.  I can’t look up. My head hangs in shame and I know I can’t wash this stench off me or walk away from my crutch. You just sit there. You hold my hand and stay silent. You fill my mind with peace. Reminding me that this is the only place I can feel peace. Showing me new grace. A grace that is unfamiliar and strange. This grace that lets me sit here and fall apart and not be put back together. The comfort is only in the uncomfortable place. 

Sitting here. Fighting. Silence filled with the unspoken and unknown words. Hands shaking.