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The walls of this cathedral have eroded, paper thin. Crumbling pillars hold a shattered ceiling, once painted with stained glass dandelion wishes. I was baptized here, in the blood of our kin. Blood that has turned to ash in my mouth. I can taste the remnants of prayer on my lips. We do not realize the scope of destruction until we have gone away and returned. How many Sundays had I missed? Those once welcoming doors have rusted heavy. There is a phantomwise figure of the Holy Spirit that once livened the very air. Air that has become thick with dust. I bow my head to pray in this empty room, but for what? To what? I am in the Sunday best shoes of a stranger. A little girl grown up too soon. A little girl grown out of her Sunday shoes. There is no fellowship here. No comfort of Grace. Just the Ghost of a girl, looking for her innocence In the ghost of a God..
I am blessed.
Listening to lonely symphony that grips my heart. Makes me listless, highlighting my unproductivity. Makes me want to move on. Want to make love to a girl. Want to hold on to a hand, lead the way or be led – as long as I'm moving, as long as I'm with a companion.
I've been putting off my story for so long now. I've been lazy – reading, daydreaming, wishing to be with those certain people that keep me moving. Envy of the people that don't motivate me but expand my dreams. It's like when the sun is out while it rains – makes no sense at all. Those people – my heroes. My goals are brilliant and hot while I'm stuck under the rain. What to do.
An umbrella, a coat, shelter from the circumstance of persistant heaviness in the clouds – too weak to hold up the sky. I saw Empire of the Sun. Got afraid that it was too important to me. Saw it again. Almost cried. Bought the book. Want to live inside the beam of light that carries the fantasy. Bought the soundtrack. Want to see it again. Want it on VHS. Want to shake the hand of Christian Bale, smile, and hopefully see him smile. Want to hold him. Want to meet his parents. Want them to adopt me. To be his bi brother. Want to see him cry. Idolatry idolatry. Want to find out that he's a spoiled brat. No, not really… Obsession / compulsion.
I long for a tight relationship. I long, I wait, I displace and divert and exchange, I ache for father/mother figures. I want to find my real father. It is so incomplete without him, I have trouble accepting the evidence of my real mom, my real half sister and brother. Why do I treat her like a bad influence and with so much skepticism? I'm so tired, but I do not want to sleep. There's just too much to do.
Me: Your hair has gotten really light in the sun, I'm jealous. Sister: I told you my hair gets light. Me: Well, whatever, your hair gets lighter than mine, my skin gets darker than yours. Sister: But my tan looks better. Me: Well--- Dad: I think you're both beautiful. Sister: Actually, I'm gorgeous. Me: Actually, I'm the prettier one. Dad: Actually, I had to say that cause I'm your dad.
Just your average, every day, loving family...