I never used to understand
why Jesus wanted to be reborn,
into a world of sinners and saints,
of betrayers and victims
where even the strongest hearts of gold,
would one day taste the cruel pain
of a finite life.

And then one day, I met you,
and my heart that believes no faith,
believed in you,
and I knew,
I’d die a thousand Friday’s
to be reborn to you on Sunday.

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I wish heaven was that first moment,
an afterlife eternity of first meetings,
a never-ending gaze upon your lips,
and butterflies that never die,
the passing of my heavy shoulders
onto your beating eyelids,
and the brief touching of skin,
that burnt as we pulled away,
a blinking image
of a long road ahead,
and a whisper of goodbye,
that begged to be left unheard,
for we were never trul...

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