I'm the bolt, the lightning, the thunder
Kind of girl who's gonna make you wonder
Who you are and who you been
And who I've been is with you on these beaches
Your Venice bitch, your die-hard, your weakness
Maybe I could save you from your sins
So, kiss the sky and whisper to Jesus
My, my, my, you found this, you need this
Take a deep breath, baby, let me in
Sam came down the hall, thoughts burning through doors that opened with every step he took, determination making his mouth look just like that, that slight disapproving frown that I can't resist in the near-dark as it presents itself to me like a new song. It can whisper in my ears, put words in my mouth, send me to heaven and then drop me back into the quilts before I have time to look forward. He's a Bridget-whisperer, a light-heavyweight, an exorcist and this morning the memory of his hands on me soaks right through my Sunday due diligence, clouding the words on the page, making them unreadable, making the book heavy, and I leave the bible on the bench beside me. I don't need it. I know it by heart.
Headphones in church this morning. Watching Sam and that set of his mouth that hasn't changed as he must be so secretly gleeful that he's back in proximity, that he can figure out how to get along with the devil with a maturity I expected from neither of them, to the point that Lochlan and I stood with surprise and watched them banter lightly, affectionately this morning as we got ready for church.
Caleb, to my left, seems fairly secure about the whole thing. After all, he is next to me right now and the future is probably his, even though Saturday nights are for Sam. It's the extra push of faith that brings Sam straight to his favorite day of the week. He's pregaming, he's making sure to pour all of his sins on the page, letting them soak through to cloud His words before turning it to a fresh one to write the story he wants for himself, not the one he needs.
He is no match for the devil, though. One deep breath from the devil and I turn from the light and run, tripping, falling, crawling back to the dark where I belong.
And then Lochlan strikes a match and the dark disappears, taking Caleb with it, a memory of a dream I had but can barely recall now. The warmth rushes in, I hold on tight as I feel music swelling up, my heart breaking at the sight of his face, the sound of his voice as we go under again. He is an ocean, deep and reflective. I see myself in him. The drive to be better. The drive to put myself first so I don't drown. The only reason I don't chase them down. I let them come to me instead. I put myself up at the top of this pedestal, standing on their hearts, piled haphazardly around my feet, a mountain of carnage and adoration that I refuse to let them live on, instead starving them out until they're almost dead, then resurrecting them, bringing them back to life on my terms.
Life on my terms. A first. A sea change. An epiphany. I'm their faith. I'm the messiah. The five-foot-tall bedhead and green eyes, perpetually drowning in my own quiet sadness, using the ocean as a cover to mask my tears. Fuck you, Jesus. I'll write my own book here. Just get out of the way.
Headphones in church this morning. Watching Sam and that set of his mouth that hasn't changed as he must be so secretly gleeful that he's back in proximity, that he can figure out how to get along with the devil with a maturity I expected from neither of them, to the point that Lochlan and I stood with surprise and watched them banter lightly, affectionately this morning as we got ready for church.
Caleb, to my left, seems fairly secure about the whole thing. After all, he is next to me right now and the future is probably his, even though Saturday nights are for Sam. It's the extra push of faith that brings Sam straight to his favorite day of the week. He's pregaming, he's making sure to pour all of his sins on the page, letting them soak through to cloud His words before turning it to a fresh one to write the story he wants for himself, not the one he needs.
He is no match for the devil, though. One deep breath from the devil and I turn from the light and run, tripping, falling, crawling back to the dark where I belong.
And then Lochlan strikes a match and the dark disappears, taking Caleb with it, a memory of a dream I had but can barely recall now. The warmth rushes in, I hold on tight as I feel music swelling up, my heart breaking at the sight of his face, the sound of his voice as we go under again. He is an ocean, deep and reflective. I see myself in him. The drive to be better. The drive to put myself first so I don't drown. The only reason I don't chase them down. I let them come to me instead. I put myself up at the top of this pedestal, standing on their hearts, piled haphazardly around my feet, a mountain of carnage and adoration that I refuse to let them live on, instead starving them out until they're almost dead, then resurrecting them, bringing them back to life on my terms.
Life on my terms. A first. A sea change. An epiphany. I'm their faith. I'm the messiah. The five-foot-tall bedhead and green eyes, perpetually drowning in my own quiet sadness, using the ocean as a cover to mask my tears. Fuck you, Jesus. I'll write my own book here. Just get out of the way.