"For in the day of trouble,
he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his
and set me high upon the rock."
Sometimes the pieces we thought made sense as children don't. They seem further away than ever, and the straining to clear the vision just hurts more than anything.
Things you once had are now such small fragments that your memory questions their existence. Even though you're sure their happening was sometime in the not-so-distant past. It must have been.
The joy. That joy. It was a dream. It existed but does no more, for what reason we know not. So we keep seeking, seeking him in his temple, for he has promised to rule and build it in harmony.
Oh, how well I know that it is there, that joy, that harmony. But I only have these weak eyes with which to strain to see it. At times the the smoke is thick and choking the breath out of life and we hurt not for ourselves, but for others, those close, and those far but not because of what is shared in our hearts; the same deep longing for the harmonic edifice. Breathe. He will cleanse and bind up the broken-hearted and set the captives free from their prison of darkness.
To continue to strain with our weak eyes? But to request eyes renewed which do not focus on momentary, fleeting joy but instead look past it and through the smoke to a greater harmony.
You don't stop loving someone; you must learn to live without.