Musings With Lincoln, Part II

Continued from Part I.

I took a deep breath as I stared across my bed at our sixteenth President of the United States as he sat in my room’s armchair.  I was about to share some deep feelings, even if it was just to good ol’ Honest Abe.

“I’m scared that they’re going to go away,” I said finally.  “She’s got such strong feelings.  And I just sometimes get really scared that one day she’ll wake up and won’t feel that way any longer.  That it will all vanish as fast as it came on.”

I was still half expecting Lincoln to make some sarcastic remark, but the man just nodded solemnly.  “It’s understandable,” he agreed.

Another breath was in my lungs, but I didn’t have anything more to say.  That statement had pretty much summed it up.  “So what should I do?” I finally asked.  “Advise me, o leader!”

Lincoln, unfortunately, just looked back at me.  “I’m afraid that I can’t offer you any advice here,” he eventually commented.  “I don’t know any more than you do.”

I glared at the man.  “Fat lot of good you are,” I told him.

At this, Lincoln shrugged, back to his usual sarcastic, snotty self.  “That’s like punching yourself in the face,” he pointed out.  It was even more annoying because he was right, even if I didn’t want to admit it.  The man leaned forward, pointing one long, bony finger at me.  The digit didn’t quiver an inch.  “You’re going to have to ask yourself one question, though.”

“And what’s that?”

The president’s lips quirked up in a slight grin; he knew that he had my attention, that he had gained control of the conversation.  “Are you worth it?” he asked, the words barely audible.

“Am I worth it?” I repeated, not sure what the question meant.

Lincoln nodded.  “She believes that you’re worthy of those feelings,” he elaborated.  “Is she right?”

My mouth immediately opened to confirm this, but I paused.  “I think that I am,” I spoke slowly.  “But there will always be that little voice in the back of my mind whispering that I’m wrong, that I am not worthy.”

“So use that voice as a warning!” Lincoln seized on the chance to speak.  “Let it be a constant reminder of the work you have to do.  May you constantly stride to prove that voice wrong!”

It wasn’t a perfect answer, but it was an answer, of sorts.  I looked up at Lincoln to thank him, but the apparition was gone.  I was once again alone in my room.

I sat back on the bed, lacing my fingers behind my head as I gazed up at the ceiling.  Lincoln was never kind to me, but he was right.  And he had left me with a new perspective.

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