It isn’t even Christmas
She asked me what I could see and I said; “Everything”. Fires that burn the soul, inflame the heart and so much more. She asked again if I loved her. I said yes, softly.
The train is pulling us faster through this space, not sure of our destination anymore, but I can see her standing, left behind at the station. Fear held her back, but I carry her with me, always. She senses the journey, but her heart remains frozen, afraid.
It isn’t even Christmas but I got the gift of salvation. I received the gift of grace. The priest next to me tells me that I have to work hard to keep it, but I ain’t listening to him. He is bound for Hell with most of these people, but I am bound for Glory simply because I believed. Because I believed. Reliving the moment of pure baptism of spirit washing away the ice…cool breeze flowed over me as I dunked my head into the waters below.
She reaches out to the glass of my window, stuck on that platform. Hesitant, she pulls away her fingers as though they were touching something magical, electrical. She was. Everything on the outside is in slow motion, the blood coursing through her veins dances to a rhythm, hidden manna. Alive, slowly. Dancing under the lamplight she begins to remember love, to remember passion and for a brief moment, she comes to life again.
Its about how you move and how you groove. It’s about me and it always has been.