in-pursuit-of-truth:

Like pushing chocolate cake through a coffee filter. It just won’t go. Does the intensity scare you? You won’t connect, you won’t engage, you won’t put the iPhone down long enough to attempt a step towards understanding. I doubt that the poetry of Justin Bieber will satisfy you like the prose of Paul. The depravity of which he speaks is so beautifully illustrated in your mindless chatter (because why would Brent even like her?), yet as hard as I try, I can not force your doodle-covered hand to draw the connecting line.

I’m a parched girl who can’t fathom why you’d wave away jugs of water like it’s nothing. I marvel at the unfailing grace of a perfect God, you marvel at the fascinating design on the inside of an orange peel. From inside the amusement park, I see you playing on a broken little swing-set. Why don’t you want to come in? I’m holding the gate open for you, don’t leave me hanging. The gate is getting heavy and I begin to question my resolve.

But in some dusty corner of my mind is a memory: of how oblivious I once was to my thirst, how interesting I once found the orange peel, how fun I once thought the broken little swing-set. I make up my mind to hold the gate open longer. 

2 months ago  /  3 notes  /  Source: laurahonestly