r/prose

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Does history truly repeat itself? It definitely rhymes. I’ve had my own Aldersgate experience. The character and method of my ministry has been revolutionized.

While on a mission to evangelize the colonies I fell for one, Sophus Hopkey. I hesitated in the midst of a vow of celibacy and he married another. I found myself incensed despite my attempts to project happiness. I was forced to flee before I betrayed myself.

His zeal declined with time. He then failed to signify his intentions upon reunion. No communion.

Maybe it was a force only I saw to begin with, as proceedings against me ensued with no resolution.

As a result, I withdrew into depression. Although committed to my cause, I became dissatisfied with my soundness of mind and felt inadequate. Especially after witnessing the way in which others pursued their own missions.

I attended a service while depressed and became engrossed in the teachings of Martin Luther being told by the new apostles, Scrim and Ruby. My heart felt strangely filled. I felt I did trust in myself and the symbol of Christ for salvation. Assurance was given to me that my sins could be taken away, because we are all sinners. 

To make mistakes is to be human. To learn from those mistakes is the formation of wisdom. The true nature of the human experience is to embrace both joy and suffering. Without darkness, we see no light. Without light, we are swallowed by darkness. The singularity that is our soul is made of both.

I recently found myself discussing the 1977 film Oh, God! In a scene on suffering, John Denver asks George Burns, “How can you permit all the suffering that goes on the world?”

To which he replies, “I don't permit the suffering. You do! Free will. All the choices are yours. You can love each other, cherish and nurture each other, or you can kill each other.” 

How Wesleyan a concept! Grace is free in all, and free for all. No special circumstance must be met, simply come as you are. 

I now feel an eerie call to reformation and a new method. Inspired by an old one, rather than revival. The evangelical way of saving a soul has become sinful in itself. Twisted into an engine for power and control.

Prosperity for all must come from the deeds of all, not just words alone.

We must walk the walk together, or be crushed by the few holding control.

She sat quietly with her tea, this time with such relief on her face,

Her hair falling upon her bare shoulders as the sun sent its rays upon her like it was searching for her, like it was meant to find her like a spotlight.

He couldnt understand the peacefulness he felt around her, even when she was in her madness, she carried with her this stillness, this knowing,

Only questioning what deserved to be questioned, then observing with these eyes that Ive never seen hold judgements, only curiosity, grace and empathy.

She looked up at me after noticing my gawking stare, smiling slowly then looked like she was about to say something but instead grabbed my hand and said * dont forget to breathe*

As if she knew what I hadnt even said outloud yet, how she has always been and will forever be,

the very air I need to breathe.

When you left. 2 kittens that need addressed.
I was here for you and you

Never dreamed you’d abandon
Your frigging zoo

Brought these critters into my house
Now you’re gone. Quiet as a mouse

Come and get them
You’ve moved on

I didn’t sign up for this shit
Take them with you

You wished to quit.

You are constricted to the limits. To so many limits. It's binding so you throw it away for you, or for them or whom this may concern. You spilled too much into it each time, with no heavens counting. So it’s all burned now. So the way he did it is that he put it all somewhere, we know this, it's the way he was and you may have found it. But that's ok! We can only sort of know. Its nature would suggest. What he said is that it was all dispensed with before he went. All of it, yes. Yours as well, all of it. He never said you were there actually this is how it went if you'd let them tell you. Yes, so having it all in front of him he decided it was taking away rather than giving. That he was not free and so he disposed of it all in a grand gesture. So it has come to be that this is the last of it and we will look at it with beauty rather than looking for its beauty or thinking that it is beautiful because that is what he wanted. A melodramist through and through wouldn’t you say? If he’d truly meant to do away with it all of it would have been done away with yet, here it is in front of us. We should not speak of him so but those are the facts. Remember who he was. He wanted vision that he never had and this was his way about it. He thinks it will count more now. What a fool we loved. What a fool. How grand he must be to design it all. To think of it, what a marvel.

I am careful, as I write these words.
Careful not to say too much, or tip my hand.
My heart urges me forward; my brain and my lungs and my bones may have forgotten how to fall in love, but the heart is a muscle, and muscles have memory.

Telling her that she feels like the sun on my skin after a long bitter winter would come all too natural to my heart. But I know this is a delicate dance, and foundations take time. There are boundaries to learn. There is trust to build and history to overcome. And though I wish it were not so, there is an undeniable terror building in my chest.

It yanks at the leash, and even in this private place that no one will see, I feel myself recoil.
And so I obey that dread, like a dog trained at the end of a lash. Fighting the urge to write that she’s lifted something off of me. That my legs feel less heavy; my vision less clouded.
My fear has become an instinct. It reminds me of the weight of love. It reminds me of its teeth, and the strength of its jaws.

You see, a man can only dwell in apathy for so long before it finds its way into his pores. It soaks in slowly until it becomes impossible to tell where it ends, and he begins. And without even knowing it’s happening, he finds himself slipping into the safety of numbness. The final sacrifice of a broken heart; to give up feeling anything at all.

But she is pins and needles, waking up a sleeping limb that I had almost forgotten ever existed. She’s a hand placed ever so gently on my cheek as we fall asleep, a hushed whisper of my name inches from my ear, a deep kiss without holding one eye open. She is a pair of blue eyes gazing intently over the edge of a glass, an arm I find wrapped around me while I dream, and a subtle shift in weight to draw our bodies ever closer.
And though I can feel the slumbering parts of my heart waking once more, I know I must be patient. I must be present.

So I am careful, as I write these words.
Careful not to say too much, or tip my hand.

i didn't fall in love with you
because i was looking for someone. i didn't fall in love with you because i felt too alone on my own. i didn't fall in love with you because i needed a relationship to be happy.
i fell in love with you because you make me feel needed. i fell in love with you because when i give you my love you give me yours in return. i fell in love with you
because you radiate a very special energy.
i fell in love with you because you are you.

If you were to ask me how you make me feel, I'd say happy. But if you were to ask me on a deeper level of my emotions, I'd say that you make me feel like the little boy I once was - full of laughter, joy, and eager to begin each day. I hadn't seen that boy for quite some time, but now that you're here, I never want him to leave. With you here, I will love you with the pure, open heart of that little boy - innocent and full of light, a love without intent, a love that simply is.

Love is everything about you - your eyes, your voice, your smile, your presence, your skin, your face, your personality, your principles, your touch, your hugs, your kisses, your flaws, your imperfections, and your complements. To me, you are love.

To my distant lover, I resent how effortlessly you make others’ access to you seem, as if they don’t have to earn your attention. Long days melt into a haze of loneliness when I desperately want you to need me in return—longing for a love so quiet and small that it often goes unnoticed, easily overlooked as you seek affection elsewhere. A love that is loud and intense feels like an unfulfilling plea, because I’m afraid to ask for more, fearing I might lose what little you offer. This only widens the gap between us. The pain of loving from afar is hard to bear in a life where I only desire your gentle hugs and the soothing sound of your voice to calm my restless heart. When I give you space, my heart pounds with worry, fearing you’ll go days without reaching out or needing me. To my distant lover, I hate how you push me away precisely when I need you most—when I crave your presence, reassurance, and love.

Loving you is like a summer’s blaze—
No fire in sight, yet I burn for days.
A silent scorch beneath my skin,
No way to lose, no way to win.

You do not see, you do not feel,
Yet all I want is something real.
Each breath I take, a gasp for air,
In a world where you’re not there.

This longing twists, it pulls, it binds,
It echoes deep through heart and mind.
A tethered ache I cannot shake,
A hunger I can’t seem to break.

When love goes one way, not returned,
It feels like bridges all have burned.
A weight that sinks beneath the chest,
Where loneliness has made its nest.

You never meant to do me wrong,
But silence sings a bitter song.
And hope, once bright, now flickers low,
A candle starved by winds that blow.

Still here I stand, though torn apart—
A tender, broken, beating heart.
For loving you and not being loved
Is pain the stars have never dreamed of.