God creates us.
He gives us individual hearts.
He gives us unique passions.
He gives some of us different temperaments.
and He gives some of us hearts of sadness.

truth is truth. i believe the truth.
but truth is huge. and much of it is still a mystery to us.
and truth does not have to be equated with happiness. truth is not relative, but its place in our life is relative....subject to our sin, our heart, our humanity. and since we are all born with every capacity to fully accept the truth, since we are made in the very image of truth, there are grains of truth everywhere. a discerning spirit, a heart living in communion with the Ghost will be able to sift through the chaff and find the wheat.

there is beauty. it's everywhere, but sometimes it's sad.

i've found it creeping up on me, surprising me in the most unexpected places...in the in-between times, in people i thought i'd figured out.

hearts of sadness, hearts of hope.
they are made from the same substance.

'we will ask the coming King, 'what the hell does this all mean?'
He will answer quietly with His love.
His love overcomes the world.
His love overcomes my fear.'--josh garrels.

there is goodness in every thing.
how incredible.

breaking up is hard to do.

in it, there was truth, reverie, magic, beauty, youth, protection, a crescendo, an opus, an alliance, a nemesis, an everest, a pillow, a stone. beneath it, beneath you, there was pressure. but beside you there was judgement and above you there was indifference. none of these suited me. i needed truth. do you understand what i mean when i say truth, little self? i mean brutality, i mean conviction that instigates, i mean raw reality of what He has, of what He is...

and i say that love conquers all, love triumphs. because He said it.

but now, where is victory? where is reverence matching retribution step for step? where is He setting it right? i understand its majesty, but is mystery always necessary?

we were a canvas, and we set down a work. it is simply unclear as to whether the legacy is one of tragedy or comedy. of dejection or hope. i suppose all who are young and have loved struggle with that even--and ever--after the fact. until the completion. so where is it complete?