I wear his righteousness like a wetsuit; slick, tight, a second skin. It keeps me warm; human.
When I forget, I am cold; frigid and fierce, ice storms, blizzards. Angry. Hungry.
I should remember always, keeping him close, remembering what it means to be alive.
Forgetting the death in me.
This reads more like a poem than a story. I'll be contemplating this one. :)ReplyDelete
nice work! moving and meaningfulReplyDelete