Still…I Pray

I was reading old journal entries. There was one from Easter Sunday, 2017. It broke my heart.

"My heart sank as I realized…no matter how much I love him…he won't love me back. He can't. I don't know if his heart is damaged beyond repair or if he really is so cold hearted that it doesn't even faze him. I'm tired of getting my heart trampled by his callousness."

I can feel the disappointment again and its heaviness running through my veins and into my chest.

The longing in my heart.
The ache in my belly.
The familiar sting of tears breaking the surface.

Those tears feel ancient and tender.

I desperately wanted him to love me.
But he didn't.
Maybe he never did.

I wonder about him when I'm driving down the road,
Or before the heaviness of sleep finds me.

Does he think about me?
Does he remember?
Does it make him sad or hurt his heart?

These things, I'll never know.
And yet I still find those familiar prayers…

Give him a heart of flesh instead of a heart of stone.

And the tears fall.