And I’m sixteen again, taking shots of liquor out of the kitchen cabinet—only I’m twenty two, and it’s eight am, and I’m just trying to sleep—not feel something “different”.
Why do I strive to keep with people who do not care to stay in my life is it because I care about them or oh wait that might…
The actions of 19 Islamic extremists on 9/11 left an indelible mark on America. Today, millions pause to commemorate the attacks’ 13th anniversary, to honor the victims and to remember that all life is special and sacred. But there’s an untold story amid the many speeches and moments of silence — one filled with a different kind of pain, grief and strong sense of loss.
"I want my father back, you son of a bitch"
"And for a moment, he was alive. And my fairy tale came true."
And it is in those moments of utter insecurity one wishes so terribly that they had just that one person that would emulate the love of Christ in such a tender and human way, yet the realization of that person not being there, or worse more than likely the seemingly nonexistent tenacity. Any single person in the past is as much undeniable proof of the incapability of any single person to relay such a supernatural necessity for validation. Dissuading any possible endeavor towards such attempts as the embodiment of pity.
I am striving after and falling for Christ, my heart is in His hands for a reason.
It is either too soon or too late, and I have been wondering if we ever truly realize anything as it happens or if we are stuck wondering why after the fact or beforehand as we anticipate.
It’s Monday September 8th at four thirty nine a.m. I exit the parking lot with the rain covering my windshield from the light drizzle that has been peppering the cement since earlier this morning. The pavement is finally saturated, and as accelerate down the road I pull into the middle of industrial parkway and place my car into park flicking on my emergency lights to correct the speech to text errors from the prior sentences. I notice the guard rail I fishtailed into that early morning now several months back in the peripheral of my headlights glow to my right, the pavement was dry then, but my mind was muddy. Is it still, or is there more clarity? I’m at a loss for words. I’ll continue my drive home.