jesus loves paris and paris will love jesus again!

jesus is a faithful lover and paris is another israel who will return to her groom!

jesus is a faithful lover who has not abandoned his bride! he has not abandoned his city!

jesus is the light and he belongs in the city of lights!

this is what i spend my time believing for.

his love is not so weak, he is not too weak for paris.

paris,

you are still so deep in my heart, i cannot get you out.

named by you

i cry out in whispers,

carve out space inside of my heart.

in the moldy and rotten caverns,

in the dark places stained

with bitter memories and

so much remorse and so much anger,

in the places of shame that

covered me with impurities

leaving me to question

whether or not they chose the wrong name

twenty two years ago,

in the feeling of hands where they do not belong

that come back in the phantom nerves

i cannot seem to forget.

carve out those dark places,

and clothe me in your holiness.

and i will look like your daughter.

and i will walk, named by you,

pure and innocent,

katherine.

a sinner's anxious prayer.

this isn't about doing more,

acting more good.

this is about i am sick with sin

and i need you to rip out my heart

and give me your gold one

so i can be well.

so i can be healthy.

i am sick with sin and your gold heart is the only antidote.

(and come quick! i am wreaking havoc and i do not know how to stop. i do not even know how to repent. i only know how to ask so weak please give me a new gold heart and a new bone spine to walk like you do. to love like you do. my fingers and my toes have walked away even all the while my eyes were longing for you.)

i count it a failure, how few times i kissed you.

all the while, it was all that i could think of.

if only your fingers and toes could follow your speech around.

what a man they'd make out of you, all headed in the same direction.

tomorrow is september 1st.

a day rich with meaning only two people know.

i will not be going back soon.

there are punches thrown in sleep.
and yelling and yelling and yelling.

where's the justice in shattered images?

(yesterday, he said he could work even this for good. even this anger. even this anxiety. even this troubled soul that's afraid to go home for fear of his eyes. what will they see this time? what will i? the reflection of an other woman, something i don't recognize)

i'm not ready yet, i don't think.

so much sorrow, still,

those streets not being what they were only three months ago.

i'm not brave enough to go back without shaking in my sleep.

--

this may be the first autumn without any red.

in the simplest way i long for home.

to come home.

to be home.

to find a home.

to settle.

new york, i wonder if i will see you this october,

leaves blazing one last time before the end.

i must live in thankfulness

holy spirit energy running through my heart.

life is so good! there are so many good things here! so much! so much!

i must live in thankfulness, or else i might collapse from all my fleshly fears and anxiety and heartbreak. i like in thankfulness of the hills and the gold and the fog and the holy spirit energy running through my heart.

fog

the fog, the fog.

this is what california is like:

in the mornings i wake up with the sun shyly saying hello.

the fog, on the way to work, covers the hills and

everything is like a tapestry,

covering the hills in chiffon,

with lights shining so sweetly behind.

i see the fog and i think of him.

i wonder what its like see him shrouded with glory

and shining and so magical.

its peaceful in the morning,

before we remember all that we're supposed to be.

the fog and the sun and all its shrouded glory.

its like the Lord lives here,

behind the mountains,

just close enough to catch his scent,

to see his shadow.

finishing a novel, finishing a friend.

i read stories written so old and i hear in them my heart. there is comfort in jo's passion and her growing wisdom. comfort that this season of alone, though i chose it, will not always be. so funny, that stories can read me so clear. and i wish to part with trust in Goodness. it is over and i remember why it i hold it so close. older now, my lips tremble at the tender troubles of four little women. i know those troubles well, and hope that some do not come quickly to my feet. she said goodbye to her dear friend and found a more humble joy. i too, wish for the sweetness that bestows a woman in love.

a confession

i have not looked into a man's eyes and felt love for a long while.

though, i have loved the still glances they give me.

amazed that such a woman might bestow such attention,

they watch from behind their glass of wine

as if fate has favored them and Aphrodite is here.

they gaze, and occasionally i match it,

carefully securing their hopes.

my Lord, i have been a liar.

‎(I will build you up again and you will be rebuilt, O Virgin Israel.)