Church
I sat in the parking lot of a red brick Baptist church, and read the words typed in small Arial font. Pondering my path from a past of battle torn want. But these were not the words of God, nor of a missionary’s calling of good deeds, spreading the word of some chosen deity. Though I needed hands to be laid on me, and prayed over for the salvation of my soul, because the words I read shred me to pieces from a whole. I wondered if I could be as strong as the building before me, and what it stood to symbolize; possibly sterilize my fragile state of mind. No, I didn't come here in search of God, to confess my sins, or hoping to find the light within. I only pulled over to read the words you sent to me, asking for forgiveness, begging to be freed from all the hurt. Then I thought, maybe it should be you sitting here, in the parking lot of this red brick Baptist church.
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