it's how he's gentle, drawing me close when I shiver; how he holds my hands, cold fingers nestled in the warmth of his palms. how we return to a certain forest, admiring trees flushed in hues of gold and scarlet; how reality fades away as we walk, drowned out by the bubbling of a stream. how I adore his honeyed voice, soothing like the patter of rain on backseat windows; how the taste of coffee lingers on his lips when he presses them to mine so softly, so bittersweet. how I feel myself falling, but I still run into his arms because "it'll be different this time."
“You know, son… There’s a reason... God had a reason to give you broad shoulders -- It’s so you could carry this load… It’s so you could hold up all these boulders.”
“But these boulders aren’t my own, so why did He leave me them to hold?” I can hardly hold them now… surely I’ll collapse when I grow old.”
“You can’t think in terms of time, it is not a restriction by which He is bound… Instead you must think it as your cross, think of the thorns upon his crown. He will not notice the time; that’s a human concept we’ve created… Instead he’ll judge you by the size of the burdens with which you’re weighted.”
“Well, that’s a relief, but how can you be so sure? He’s never turned the night to day; I’ve never seen a disease he’s cured. Excuse me if I’m wrong, but I struggle to have faith When the world that he created has become this wretched place.”
“I can’t convince you that he’s real, I can’t show you how to feel. But if I showed you cold and silence, would you say that they were real? Yet these aren’t real things, simply the absence of others… So you must look to the voids, when you wish to discover.”
“I hope that you’re right. I hope he’s up there listening… I hope there’s golden gates I can admire, I hope that they’re still glistening. I hope God can take my hand, and tell me ‘Son, you’ve done well.’ I hope to God there’s a heaven – ‘cause I’ve been living in ****.”