No Title.

     It's funny that in the static between song changes on the car radio, the Jesus channel, for lack of a better name, comes through clearly with bits of sermon I always feel guilty about silencing. It's funny because it's me, and so many people seem to associate my idea of religion as a joke. (Note to self: make sure people know that just because I joke about religion doesn't mean I consider it a joke.) 
     Tonight while selecting songs the deep voice of some preacher was speaking a truth I should be grasping for while I tumble rage around like ice in an empty glass. Pointless. It was about enemies, forgiveness, and the lack of validation for their wrongdoings. I'm not sure I can believe with the faith some possess so strongly. I'll remember it though, write it down. Maybe it'll feel right some day. 
     I've never been one to need guidance from an entity I've considered more as looming than nurturing. I can't trust it. I can't trust anything. But I'm not sure if all these feelings in the pit of my stomach are just chemical. I'm not sure when I'll stop thinking about God when the streetlights go out. There's still some hope it's not just malfunction, that we're not all just flickering on and off. 
     I am sure that tonight, on a Sunday, my decisions feel different. They feel true. They aren't burdened by insecurity, wonder, or the thick pessimism that coats most of my days. Maybe I've shed some skin. Maybe the company I'm in currently is just long overdue. Maybe I should always keep the streetlights a mystery.
     But I think I'm on my way to grasping something I lost last summer, or the one before. Or  maybe it's always been missing.