Strange night. Will I be glad in the morning that I slept alone? I guess. I don't feel anything. Strange night. I'm always different than who I thought I would be. I don't like me, but I think I really wouldn't have liked the one I thought I'd be. Maybe we'd both be okay and tragic in our own ways. Strange night.

I'm consistently surprised by life. By its variety. I can't believe I'm allowed to be this one. All those years of believing in a life so different than this present one. I still believe in a certain love. I still believe in him. I believe desperately in his grace and love...his kindness and mercy toward me. That I can live this life, a life I never thought I would live, and yet be his still.

Strange night.

I don't feel, and yet I feel all in one. Feeling is a beautiful thing, and in these moments when I get to feel it without sadness or pain or regret, I can't help but believe in that certain love. Because my mind, even now, even with this, goes to love. And his, undying, for me. A love I cannot doubt because I've seen it in the face of my own flesh-and-blood father.

Strange night.