Written by Taylor Calonzo

Edited by Cato

I find God on a cool Thursday evening 

where the white noise of the television 

is the only sound aside from your breathing, 

rhythmic in sleep as you’re splayed out 

across the couch like a house cat, 

unafraid to take up space. 

I time the rise and fall of my chest 

so that life swells within us as one, 

the lush melody of inhale exhale 

shutting my eyes so gently that I fall apart. 

On the brink of consciousness, 

I pray. 

And for the first time, 

I mean it. 

Dear Lord, 

God’s the sweat marching down 

the bridge of your nose. 

He’s your hand gripping the remote 

like it would leave if given the opportunity. 

He’s the overhead fan blowing your name 

back into my mouth, knowing I craved it so. 

He’s the words I can’t bring myself to say

when you’re awake and looking through me 

like stained glass in a cathedral, 

words I can only say 

when your eyes are closed 

and your mind is distant. 

I believe in you. 

I believe in your weather-beaten voice, 

your breaking and rebuilding, 

your soil-coated knees. 

I believe in days where the sun shines 

almost too bright for our eyes to consume, 

nights where I can’t fall asleep but it’s okay 

because you’re awake beside me, 

stroking my head and crowning weighted kisses 

upon my eyelids to keep them closed. 

I believe in cool Thursday evenings 

where your breathing is the only sound. 

I believe in this. 

Amen.

Illustration by Angie Orbeta
Instagram: @qngelie

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