Phoenix

In all likelihood you will forget how the colours played tricks on our eyes and the dew clung to our clothes and hair under the watchful, silent stars. But if you don’t, you’ll understand one day when God will bless you with a daughter of your own. One who waits and waits all day long for you to come home from work so you’ll take her out for ice cream like you promised, and refuse to go to bed without a story. She’ll grow up. You’ll teach her about music and religion and sex, no matter how much you dread talking about the latter. She will be your entire world wrapped up in glorious glowing young skin. And you will be careful, because you don’t want that day to ever come when she might not listen to you, when the voices in her head will tell her to do exactly the opposite of everything you’ve tried to instill in her. The fear of that moment will make you understand. Understand completely.

You forgive me now, and I forgive you too. And once God forgives us both, everything will be as good as ever before.

I love you

so I'm fighting for you still.

Drift

Like the crash of waves against a shore, so punctual, we lay ourselves down. Our measured, calculated awareness elsewhere like lost baggage upon these stations and stops we stand waiting at. Crossing from platform to platform, with our deceiving faces, we just fall, face down, on train tracks and ask to be flattened under the weight of an accident.

Every mistake isn't a lesson learned, but an encounter, a show of resilience. We start to wonder if we've been born in the wrong house. I feel as sorry for myself as I do for you.

Then there are those who walk with no intention of ever coming back home, but they end up even farther behind the starting line than before the race began.