And They Lived . . .

by Steven Salvatore

You remind me of red cardinals and majesties unknown faraway lands and magic spells, words I’ve yet to learn that haven’t been invented because with you I’m an unwritten novel reborn in your margins under night skies, and rainy-day puddles. we exist in the breath between lightning and thunder where the end is a beginning, that starts with three simple words a poem by your name that goes I love you

It’s funny how so many of us struggle with the same stuff: feeling like we’re not enough. Not good enough to be loved. Not beautiful enough to be worthy. Not talented enough to be accomplished. Not significant enough to feel important or seen. Without the proper words to tell another that we love them, that we hate them, that we something-in-between them, that they hurt us when they think they love us.

He even said, ‘Any god that doesn’t love my son is no god to me.’