You shouldn't have told me you missed me.

You shouldn't have let me curl up against you, or rub the stiffness from your back, or kissed me goodbye.

You shouldn't have given me my shirt back, smelling like you.

You shouldn't have told me you plan to go away.

That's the thing about leaving, Love. You should never give someone the chance to ask you to stay. 

I'll try my best not to ask you, because I don't want to break our hearts more than they have to.

You make me think of mornings and you remind me of things that I'd lost, without it hurting.

(A)

She

We sit at coffee tables and look at each other. My gaze on yours is heavy. You never seem as troubled as I feel. If the world were a river, and we stood in the middle, you were the one who went with the flow, and you changed it, to move wherever you wanted to go, knowing all along that you could. I turn my back on the current, weak and shuddering as it rushes towards me, past me. I like the smile on your face, the fact that you want to be my boat.

(B)

He

We sit in the kitchen; it's bathed in the morning glow. Your eyes are gently closed, palms cupping a coffee mug, held to your lips. We are kept warm this moment in time, while the curtain gently flutters in the morning breeze. I don't know what to make of you. The way you always seem suffused with light. You bring me my day and my night; and the brightest I have ever seen the moon is in your eyes.

(C)

She

You're like evening gowns and the words 'nothing to worry about'. Tears of joy when all your life you have been taught to pray, but never with the certainty that your prayers would be granted; tears of joy when after all these years you got what you were looking for anyway. I still kneel at the foot of the bed we joyfully tumble into each night. My lips, so used to smiling, since you came, repeat 'thanks,' softly, certainly.

(D)

He

I think you are the chance I was given to do everything over again. You found me in troubled spirits and I love you in good cheer. We started with nothing, a thousand miles apart, and then I found you (and the other way around) and together we found: this round table made of wood, these throw pillows, a sofa. Our friends say it's a start, but you tuck your head against my chest, with a knowing smile, and whisper: "It's every happy ending I could have ever imagined."

If you remember how it felt

to dream of her at night, then you remember me -

The love you lost and couldn't keep.

The first time you looked into her eyes

and realized you were happy;

to the girl you thought you would marry.

Do you remember how it felt

to have her near, not yours to touch

Do you remember feeling everything so much?

Because first love is always an only.

If you remember how it felt to cry at night,

then you remember me.

You thought nothing could ever hurt you

that deeply. Your heart so brave and clumsy,

so sorry for itself. You belonged to someone else.

And yet look back and remember,

that girl made you less scared. You took risks

and you learned, and you grew,

and it hurt; it was the first -

the love you lost and couldn't forget.

The girl who went and changed

everything, the light of your world,

the love that made you believe

in heaven, 'cause she was an angel on earth

Though in the end she saw you

as nothing more than a friend,

you loved once, and you will love again.

It's been a while since I've tried writing the loneliness out of my soul.

but how do I stop feeling so alone?

can I cage up the feeling somewhere away from my bones

so I can breathe easy again without the voice in my head saying

"you don't deserve to be loved" and "you'll never have anyone to hold"

because it's true, and i feel bad when i look at you,

and when i hold you my hands are full of apologies,

selfishly not wanting to be empty, but in the end we let go.

we always let go and i'm always alone and i want to be free

of wanting to be otherwise. i want to stop being so restless on my own at night,

pleading with whoever's on the moon to give me someone too,

hoping for friends and for something more and for love that will forgive me for wanting it too much,

for desiring what i don't deserve, for a soft voice that will say, "it's okay. i want to love you anyway."

but i'll settle for nights that don't feel so cold; i just want to feel okay on my own,

no tears slipping down my cheeks when all i want is to sleep.

i want to stop feeling empty, i wish my bones would know they're home -

i am my own safe place. i want to be alright. at night i clutch a pillow to my chest so tight

it's like i am trying to squeeze my heart numb.

he was weary from.

the burden of.

packing his.

abandoned bones.

through clouds that dripped.

like acid on his days.

and in the oil fields.

he struck a vein.

of rotten soil.

his sins had sunk.

into the blood.

of nature as it lay.

this is the price

he paid.

for what he'd done.

and in his face he saw.

the scene play out.

a reflection of his pain.

but she had.

a pocketful.

of fingerprints.

that covered him.

with the havoc of.

her beautiful display.

so he left it all.

behind the scent.

he tasted on.

the skin that stretched.

ov-er her bones.

a bridge beyond the grave.

“Such a pretty little girl,” he said, blocking the door. He pulled one greasy hand through my ponytail. I looked away from his pustulent face.

“Leave me alone.”

Happy screams sounded from the playscape outside.

When his rotten face brushed my lips, I gagged.

I chose the window, and fell.

When I was little, I hated church. I didnʼt understand why I had to sit so quiet, and listen to this dressed-up man behind a pulpit drone on and on. I remember staring up at the lights and kicking my feet so they hit the pew in front of me until I was hushed, and reprimanded. I remember keeping an eye on Momʼs watch the entire time. 

After a serious death in the family, we stopped going. I was seven years old at the time. I missed my grandfather. But I remember that I was happy. I didnʼt have to get up early, or wear a dress, and most importantly, I didnʼt have to wait anymore. So all was well.

The funny thing about it though, was that we still said prayers at night. Just the Lordʼs Prayer. My brother, my mother, and father seemed to believe. Eyes closed, hands linked, they said those words with conviction. As they came out of my mouth, they meant nothing. I remember that I opened my eyes a lot. 

As I grew, and as the prayer was said night after night, I became conflicted. Wasnʼt there supposed to be a moment when you had a revelation? Couldnʼt I believe? It was strange. We were a Christian family, after all. I remember wondering just what the hell was wrong with me that I couldnʼt feel what I was so obviously supposed to.

When I was twelve, I tried youth services. On Wednesdays. I remember my father seeming angry that I was going. I remember thinking that it was probably because he felt guilty, for not going to church and I was, and he was projecting. I thought that it was funny, because I was so confused about God, and he wasn't.

So I went. For about a month. I felt awkward. There was no sense of fellowship, I was a lousy singer, and all of these other kids felt so fake. Like they were just keeping up appearances. I remember that they were on their phones a lot. Oh, but they loved to praise God, and they were so involved in camps and summer events, and each of them shared their “moment." You know the one. Where you suddenly let Jesus into your heart and feel it. I remember the crushing sense of despondency that came over me the moment I was asked what my moment was.

I stopped going. But I kept trying for that epiphany that had eluded me for so long. When those nice people came to our door and left us papers, I picked them up. I disregarded the church name and invitation for that Sunday every single time. I remember that I always flipped to the back. Past all of the inspirational shit. To the part that mattered. The one that instructed me:

If you recite this simple prayer, you are saved.

I remember getting down on my knees, and closing my eyes as tight as I could. I remember admitting that I was a sinner. I remember saying that I accepted Jesus as my lord and savior. I remember that my hands were clenched so firmly in front of me it was a wonder that my fingers didnʼt break. And I remember, that when it was done, and I opened my eyes, I was as empty as I was before my shins hit the floor.

After doing that five times, I threw those papers in the trash. 

Nothing life-changing ever happened to me. I was forever unsaved, as far as I was concerned, because I never once believed.

But every now and then, I receive these little signs. Small things that could just be coincidence. Makes me wonder if I should give the whole thing another shot. Sigh.

I donʼt believe, but I donʼt not believe, either. Itʼs really the damndest thing.

The only certainty I have about religion is the uncertainty in my heart.

So in my purgatory, I still

appreciate the teachings of the Bible. They're all well and good, in my opinion. Nice things to aspire to achieve every day. Goals to set and all that.

But in the back of my mind, questions loom.

Is it really possible to believe?

Will I ever change my mind before I die?

The answer to both of those:

I donʼt know.

But I guess one way or another, I'll find out.

Thanks for tuning in.

P.S. I chose "nondenominational” because agnostic isnʼt an option on most applications. Isnʼt that funny?

I remember my grandma in her final years,

repeating the same sentences in the same armchair

over and over with such care, 

as if they were the most important lessons

learned from a long, lovely, wild life 

that was ending in a chair.  

she kept passing me,

in the dark,

like a shadow

the sun forgot to erase.

but I felt her

like a warmth

ready to rise,

a dead man

using hope

to resuscitate,

and I've waited

years to see the dawn,

to see her rise

beyond the bend,

to see her prove that

love beyond grasp,

can scale the earth,

can trace my steps,

can find me

long after I see it fade.

and the spin of the globe

becomes the rhythm,

that my heart makes,

when it dances at the

sight of her,

when the future

has no night,

and the pain chasing me,

becomes a shadow

before her face.