Secrets About a Sweet Soul: As Told by a Stranger

Sometime in the past I happened to come across a sweet soul. At that sometime I became friends with this sweet soul: I would kiss this sweet soul, I would cry with this sweet soul, and I would try to fix this suffering, sweet soul.

Our sometime together was short, however. Most of it was spent at one of two churches (I say "two churches" to emphasize two types of churches, not necessarily two separate religions); for one church, non-denominational Christian, hosted a plethora of not-fully-religious-or-not-religious-at-all preteens and teens with a thirst to socialize and share angst. The other church, Baptist, was almost entirely the opposite, and we tried our best to connect with it and the supposed Holy Spirit it housed; yet, I know for me anyhow, religion never settled well with my soul.

Sometimes the hard, tragic things in life must be discussed - not for closure's sake, but for the sake of the spirit the hard, tragic thing stifled. Even I - at an age much too young -could sense the tragedy awaiting this sweet soul. I could feel his weight as we bowed our heads and wrapped our arms around each other's shoulders in hopeful prayer. I can remember the tears that built up in his eyes anytime I mentioned an ex-girlfriend, or a long-lost friend, or his uncle (who, from what I hear, laid the groundwork for the tragedies to come), and I could see his dark obsession with things that are forever out of reach. I knew then I could not fix or save him, although (foolishly) I believed someone might.

Sometime not too long ago - in fact, around Christmastime - this sweet soul sacrificed his life for peace of mind, and left me with a hard burden of sorts. A mind clogged with confusion, and sadness: but, for that poor thing, I will gladly take this confusion and sadness, as long as his sweet soul may be free.