blindbelief.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: March 12, 2008

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Submitted: March 12, 2008

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They say that anything that appears in that book is true and they say the words within him are alive like you and I, breathing, sharing, whispering truths into the ears of anyone who will listen. But if this is so, I think that the battered copy on my bedside table is breathing his last breath, his pages blowing slowly up and down from the soft wind that a fan wafts in his direction, like a weary human chest that is too tired to continue on in this uncertain journey called life. I sit curled up beside him, unable to look at him without feeling empty and wishing that things were as simple as they used to seem. Curled up in a ratty blanket like a butterfly still wrapped up in a cocoon, my body shakes as I contemplate my fate and wonder if such an entity as destiny even exists anymore. I am longing for the days when I never questioned anything he had to say and accepted his utterances as words that trickled straight from the mouth of God, like crystal-clear water from a beautiful brook. The sun was so much brighter and the stars were vibrant and vivid on those nights when he spoke to me in that whisper that compelled the hair on my limbs to stand up at attention, like a soldier that has been trained to respond to his superior. Was it really the message in his words that provoked such an intensity of emotion, feeling, passion from my childlike self, or was it his poetic presentation that elicited such a response that made me believe he was real? Perhaps the graceful way that his words were strung together like beautiful beads on the neck of an African queen were what swayed me and made me want to believe every bit of what he had to say.

How I wish I could go back to those days of blind belief and fearless faith. But all I can do now is cower in my covers of cynicism, stuck amidst these sheets of sin and suspicion…


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