She's Beautiful Like A Cathedral, Like Gilded Vatican Ceilings. But The Funniest Thing About Religion

she's beautiful like a cathedral, like gilded vatican ceilings. but the funniest thing about religion is how man made it with his own hands. saw past the biological and painted meaning all over his own survival, lived and worshiped his made up doctrine. how he ignores the many times the earth reminds us how cruel it's cycles can be, reminds us that it's a meaningless rock floating through an infinite pitch void. he willfully remains romantic, philosophical, spiritual. he notices. adds to his archives. worships like a pet of God. In the beginning God hinted at his noticing, but now He sits silent. God does not respond to his sweet nothings, whispered to the inky night sky. He already has humanities faith, he no longer needs to fight for it. who is man to demand more? except he already has more. his creation is in his own hands. my creation is in my own hands too. i created her in my head, painted her with meaning. made my misery my cross to bear and delighted in my self sacrifice. hanging upside down, St. Peter’s cross- of course everything that was upside down looked right when i was head over heels. i must ask for more.

she's out there, somewhere. learning her lessons while i learn mine- selfless and intelligent and empathetic. the kind of person that won't crush your spirit then watch to see your face move in the subway window- delighting in the attention. the kind of person who isn't afraid to hint a little, brush your hand on top of a table and play with your hair sober. who doesn’t vocalize their desire for a man, waiting for your voice to crack over the phone. i wont need to go looking, she’ll appear and i wont recognize her at first. but one day, i’ll wake up and i’ll know and i won’t even think of her when i do it. everyone i’ve ever loved will pale in comparison. and she will prove me wrong, and i’ll believe i deserve her and maybe when i look back at the photos my heart won’t rip at the edges.

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