You drive off into the night, seeking the thrill, the rush of almost-death, never dreaming of living until the adrenaline leaves your bones weary and tired and heavy.
Reckless.
You keep to yourself, dull blades and sharpened thoughts locked tightly away, buried within the marrow within you. You drive.
Reckless.
Paranoid, anxious, you carry on, thrill seeker. Experience, tragedy, embracing your mortality only while you breathe your last breath, living--reluctantly-- only through fear.
Reckless.
Sweet, lovely boy who fears life. You drive away from your roots but not forward, because you don't know where you're headed if not towards death.
When I was just a girl, I asked my mother what it took to be a Christian, and she told me-
-” To be a Christian, you must believe that Jesus died and rose again.”-
-Then, I thought of all the people I had seen in the last few days, raving online about how the fact that gay marriage was legal was an attack against Christians-that confused me. The fact that gay people could get married wasn’t impairing their ability to believe in the three days resurrection. So, I asked my mother what it took to be a good Christian. My mother looked at me and said-
-” To be a good Christian, you must love God and love people.”-
How, then, could these people stoning and killing and beating gay people in the streets be “good Christians” like they all swore they were? My father loved me and never once had he struck me. My mother loved me but never had she grabbed me by my shirt collar and spat in my face to tell me that I would go to hell if I didn’t stop sinning. I loved my brother and sister so much that I would never entertain the thought of calling them abominations.
I knew then that these people may have been Christians but they were not good Christians.
They were cowardly, hypocritical Christians.
I don’t know what I am, and I may never know, but I know that you are not a good Christian.