Eight Months

It has been eight months since we decided to notice together the heartstrings hanging between us. There, God put out his washing. That day we decided to hang our own string higher up, to rinse out our own garbs and let them hang there to dry.

In times of rain, the clothes hung heavier and stretched the string down, but then there was sunlight and drying and then opportunity for lifting the garments off the line to be folded away. 

A dastardly storm blew through recently. I had put a lot of my own washing on the line for the past few months, and I hadn't taken it off because it hadn't had enough opportunity to dry. Ideally it would have dried within a few hours, maybe a day, but one of my coats took a particularly long time to get there. It's no secret that even with the Sun out, I had been sneaking out to spray it with water so that I could have it out longer, and I blamed it on the passing storm.

Having the washing out for too long wasn't good for the coat though. It began to weaken, unworn, and from all the rinsing by rain followed by the drying then the rinsing by force, it started to shrivel and shrink, holding more of the water in and weighing the string down too much. Too much, I say, and we both know; it leaked onto the laundry God had out on our heartstrings, and we knew that if his garments didn't dry in time then he couldn't take them off and there would be no room for him to place anything else he may be wanting to place there.

I'd have let the laundry weigh the string down if it were simply my line, but it isn't, because it needs a two points to hang from. And heartstrings connect two hearts. It wasn't just my own I was responsible for now. We agreed eight months ago that we would hang our washing on the same line so that we could spread it out and catch more wind and thus dry it faster. I recognise I have been selfishly hogging the line, as if it were all mine. I am sorry.
 
This past month you have blessed me with steadfast dedication in putting up with its putting up. You helped me unpeg the coat too heavy for me alone to lift, so that I could take it down and twist it and release the river it had been holding up its sleeves. I was going to put it up again on our upper line and promise not to go back and sneak water onto it, but I think it much better now, with your agreement, to put it to hang on God's line. It catches warmth more easily, his line, and I think it would be in a safer place there, away from my own interference with it. And when it's dry, God will take it down himself and do with is what he wills.

In the time that follows then, feel free to hang any old clothes that are still dirtied somewhere in your closets. There is more space on the upper line now because my coat's gone, and as far as I can tell, that was the heaviest one I'd owned. If another proves to be heavier, once I know it, I will do my best to let you know; I will push through any hesitance and formality and simply let you know so you can help me dry it as fast and as thoroughly as we can. I would do the same for you.

To months ahead of laundry and metaphors,
Yours,
Cristian