I almost asked you today if you'd found the purpose. The reason I've felt compelled to pray for you every day for almost a decade. Whenever I lost my faith, it never extended to jeopardizing you. But what the fuck is the purpose?
I once confided my fears about being nothing but actors on a stage to amuse God. Amuse and entertain as a whole, without concern for any individual but the rare stars. You had star potential. Remember when we were...yeah. (HA! Blue Sky just came up on random. Exact opposite of this post. Messed up my energy.)
I don't know what he wants from me and it's frustrating. How the hell do I know if I'm making the right choices or if there even is a better choice. I could sink into the most light and airy depression ever imagined. Opium dreams over painted skies. Piano étude on a loop behind my head. Fingers molding figures out of air.
I could say goodbye today and never know why we were here.
His daughter wasn't named Brianna. Did I make that up? A thousand precise facts and a single lie, to crack the plaster. Alabaster. Marble warming beneath my palms.
I don't know how to live in a world that doesn't obey the rules. this one's gonna bruise...
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1 comment:
I didn't make it up.
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