grâce pour elle qui aime le ciel

We say grace, a tired prayer upon our lips, looking for some kind of outlet, some kind of shooting star to bind it to, in hope that it will reach God's ears. We hope. Dear God, we hope.

We have lived through years of acid and wine, of miracles and unanswered prayers. we are confused and lost, and simultaneously found and loved. We are blessed and cursed, and torn between two worlds.

we seek you. through all hardships, through the sacrilege and calluses on our hands, our eyes inevitably seek the unfractured light. in a world of darkness we recognize salvation; though it is immediate and undeniably far off. We live to die and die living, oxymoronic creatures such as we are.

we are no masters of the nuances of heaven, no diviners of holy whims. we simply live. and that must be enough. we simply live.