This...is me saying sorry for not saying enough.
I sat with a white knuckle grip like a child with a baloon string: terrified that if I let go, it would all just slip away.
Somedays I still feel you... at the altar of granted mercy when I'm humming along with a chorus of tattered pages teaching lessons in redundance.
We've all heard these words, they come shaking out of our mouths in the silence of nightly prayers
but I find comfort in knowing that you're only a breath or two under my consciousness.
Forgive me for trying to explain away your absence, but I feel like you were here for me, to show me some sign that those pearly arches were calling someone elses name that that steril room filled with futile education and rehearsed rececitations of sympathy was not the end of the line for me.
I'm gonna marvel at this world, and you'll see it all vicariously through me, because that day you left we both in the silence of our white knuckle grip agreed that there would never again be emptiness in between our words and the places we planned to send them.
This...is me saying sorry for all my small apologies, and for taking this long to get them to you.
Tell God I'm sorry about the wait.
I sat with a white knuckle grip like a child with a baloon string: terrified that if I let go, it would all just slip away.
Somedays I still feel you... at the altar of granted mercy when I'm humming along with a chorus of tattered pages teaching lessons in redundance.
We've all heard these words, they come shaking out of our mouths in the silence of nightly prayers
but I find comfort in knowing that you're only a breath or two under my consciousness.
Forgive me for trying to explain away your absence, but I feel like you were here for me, to show me some sign that those pearly arches were calling someone elses name that that steril room filled with futile education and rehearsed rececitations of sympathy was not the end of the line for me.
I'm gonna marvel at this world, and you'll see it all vicariously through me, because that day you left we both in the silence of our white knuckle grip agreed that there would never again be emptiness in between our words and the places we planned to send them.
This...is me saying sorry for all my small apologies, and for taking this long to get them to you.
Tell God I'm sorry about the wait.