The Hypocrisy of Life & Love

I wait at the back of the line with my empty cup in hand. They wait at the front of the line, but their cups are not empty. I do not even move my head from side to side to look how much longer I must wait. You see that I am patient. You see that I do not complain. You see that I am responsible. You see that I am obedient. You see that I respect. You see that I give. You see that I love. And yet you leave me here waiting at the back of the line. For days I have been waiting and you do not come. Why do you not come? Why does this line only get longer? Am I unworthy? What must I do to make me less unworthy in your eyes? You who sees all things. 

 They laugh and they smile. They smile at themselves and laugh at you. When their cups are filled and they see that they are overflowing, they laugh a little more because they're stupid and did not realize they could have quenched their thirst only a moment ago. But they are not thirsty, are they? They obey well, and out of fear. They say all the right things, withhold at the right or is it the wrong time? You keep them happy and adorned. Your favourite ones. The ones who will bring light and manifestation to your vision? They would not dare, though, would they, to take their hair to wipe down your feet? They would not bow to you out of love. They will not stay a night to sit in silence alone with you. They will not wipe down the walls of your heart or sweep the floors of your mind, not even if you asked them. Because they cannot, for they do not understand. 

I have cooked meals for you a hundred times, washed your aching feet, massaged the temples of your past, stared at your hands, at those beautiful hands. And you know I will continue to do all of these things. I sit next to you eagerly and with great joy because you are here and I am here and all is right. And from these real moments, I am pulled back into reality, into this line, where I wait because here we are all winners and all losers, all beautiful and all ugly, where our actions do not dictate what we shall get or what we deserve, where I must swallow hard the disappointment of what is and what will never be. 

 In this cup I carry, there is some water but I do not drink from it, just yet, for fear that I will not make it to the front of the line in time for you to receive me, in time for you to find me worthy. You wish for me to transform this pain, this loneliness, abandonment? So I look down, my lips and mouth dry, and tell myself to hold on for a short while longer. If I drink from this cup now, then what? I will have no more reserves. My cup will become my cross and I cannot have that. 

I will have to walk away and towards the well of my heart. Here, what you give will be enough, more than enough, eternally. But I am not you. I will not turn the other cheek. Why must you always make me better, shinier, more resilient? Why can I not be like the others? Easily amused. And me? I am too easily appeased. I'd rather my cup be empty then. At least, I would have some integrity. You nod your head in agreement. And you know this only makes me sadder. You and I both know I have everything. I lack nothing. Yet, I don't care to be a ruby. In this space between worlds, why can't the real spill over with some kind of permanence, continuity, purpose, love? Why must I find you here and not there? How can I find you in both places so that I do not feel your absence so greatly, taste the hypocrisy of this life so deeply?