cycle.

another event we were put in charge of
another rug pulled from underneath us.
another lesson learned.
a hard lesson in humility.

there's a fine line between meekness and being a pushover. it's difficult to visualize exactly where i stand. it is possible that they are the same thing (they have the same amount of letters?). it makes me contemplate exactly how long-suffering love can be.

the attitude of the heart is an enigmatic thing. its motives are deceiving, passionate, and steadfast. almost arrogant. let's not follow him. he's bad.

if my relationships are as cold as my feet right now, i pray that God makes us whole. meekness being confusing and the heart being obnoxious, we can easily grow accustomed to brushing things under the rug until it reaches a noticeable size.

God.
be the fuel. be the fire. be my warmth.
my adrenaline. my strength. my power.
be all these things to me.

i am weak.
and quite often times, a pushover.

it's when we're empty.

that we can be filled.

why am i so quick to assume? if i really understood what "jumping the gun" means, that would probably be me. (i could easily find out what that means; i have a book that's full of figures of speech.) i'm so quick to answer. i take an emotion and run with it (as is seen in my previous post). God, you have a lot to work on.

i guess being classified as jumping the gun also entitles me to switch subjects quickly.

i'm eating oatmeal.
and i love you.

that's where you'll find me.

the road must end somewhere. there was an unspeakable joy within me as i placed my feet on the dashboard. the windshield flashed memories and illusions of what could be. everything planned since childhood was brought to life on the screen. then it all came to a stop. we pulled over. you opened my door. i didn't want to leave.

like i said.

it will all run out
when you find me sitting in
your passenger seat

let me back in. it's cold out and it's raining. i tread aimlessly on mirroring asphalt. the horizon comes slower than ever. in desperation i watch my feet and imagine another set of prints beside mine. kind of like that poem you find in people's bathrooms that talks about footprints and such. i'm not being carried this time. i brought this upon myself.

all i have is His raise peeking effortlessly through the dark atmosphere.
that should be enough to keep me going.

it'll never run out.
He'll never run out.
i'll never run out.
so now, i run.

the showers may break harder and sting my face with frost. being fueled with Love going beyond measure, i can run for hours, days, millennia. may He renew my heart and be my strength as i run with fervor and breathe with depth. may i run to win and to win a prize. that though all may see, i will set my eyes on You.

if i run the race with His raise drawing ever nearer...

maybe, eventually.
he'll see me
in his rearview mirror.