Ceremony

 How can love be this crippling? All I think is you. God. I can sleep proper, but at what cost? All I want to do is sleep, perhaps eat something not to starve, play a game or two of chess, listen to ceremony, and barely that. Cause it do not matter what else I do, it is done without the slightest of attention. Carefully, but automatically.  I been blessed by you, showered by your stars. I feel you jumpstarting my heart when I falter, oh God. Do you feel my outstretched arms reaching for you in love?

Mahalia sang about this once, so passionately, so this text is a futile example to say the same. I will come out of my house later, to the benches in the tiny park near my house, with Kierkegaard in one hand and a tumbler full of coffee in the other. I will talk to the lonely man who is sometimes there and ask them to break bread with me. I will ask them what is the last thing they think before they fall asleep. I will ask what they plan on eating that day too. I will say 'Good afternoon' and walk away after while, until I know not where I am, drenched in sweat, and turn back, looking for a chapel where I can lose myself in you. Cause there I am what I am. Cause there no one will judge me. Cause there You might teach me a thing or two.

How can love be this crippling... I take my black guitar and play nothing in particular, barely brushing the strings, humming notes of desperation, hoping you can hear my serenade.