One year older, one step closer to God’s doorstep

 Jesus came to my birthday party. 

And I haven't been the same since. 

A long time has passed since we sat under the oak tree and listened to the whisper of the wind. Fruit was sweeter, the sunlight warmed our skin, and we weren’t so afraid of the future. Or bitter about the past. We used to write about love, and we were good at it. First kiss. Slow dance. Weekends. The world was ours and we wanted everyone to know it. Careless and free. Hopeful and passionate. Now we can’t wait to fall asleep and dream about never waking up. 

I don’t know when life stopped making sense. I don’t know when I started getting annoyed at that big hard sun, or overripe fruit. I used to believe that angels watched over us, and that my dad visited me in my dreams. My heart was full of hope. But now it’s full of anger, and I can’t stand the way it feels. The beauty that once captured my soul has since burned in the flames of discontent, and I'm not quite sure who lit the flames. 

It's been three years since we asked him if he saw anything on the other side when he was slipping from our grasp. 

He said "no." 

And on this day every year I'm reminded of that. I remember the tears. I remember his lifeless body and how heavy it was. But most of all I remember his last words. 

He said "no." 

Yes God, I resent you. For what you’ve taken. What you'll take. Jesus was at my birthday party but he forgot about my dad. 

And so it goes. We relish in hope during the day. But at night we embrace the demons, and write angry poems that were once about love. We'll quit looking back. We'll keep keep moving forward like we promised we would. But please God, just let me be. 

I don't need you like I once did, and for that I'm sorry.