I long to run hand in hand with angels, to feel the grace of shattered glass against my wrist. Did the mother of god cry for her son? Will mine suffer the same before I’m gone? The last thing I will see is my own face as I float between two worlds. Don’t weep for me, I will shine brighter from above to feel the need for the first time as I leave. Did the mother of god cry for her son even though she knew this day would come? Before I’m gone, the stations of the cross serve as reminders for the closest things we’ve lost. Will you love me when there’s nothing left to love?
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