I want to tell you why you and I were made. At least why I think we were made. He’s a Christian, you’ll say. Love, he’ll say, though maybe he’ll take the scenic route and drive slow before arriving. And in some ways I won’t dispute the claim. And in another, I’ll tell you that love is a word so battered and bandied about that it’s a hollow shell of what it could mean. And God saw that it was good. [Genesis 1] Hm, so here’s the refrain of the creation story. Let there be light
She asked if delight had died in us. Or she didn’t say it like that, but it stung like it, hanging dreadfully in the dusky air as we wound back home. I opened up the windows to see if that would clear it. And then I got angry and said I hated her question, though truthfully I wasn’t angry because I thought it wrong but because I knew it true. Once upon a sparkling past, we rode stranger’s horses and made out until 5 am and took midnight jaunts to the Canadian border for flick
I'm just trev.
I'm a 23-year old trying to make beauty out of life's raw stuff. I post stuff every Tuesday.