It amazes me still.
My dependence on We.
My fear of We.
My quest to escape We and my need for We.
Yet We can hurt like nothing else.
A harsh word from We is worse than one hundred paper cuts.
An afternoon free of We is bliss.
An evening without We is a journey into sadness.
I daydream of a life without We and have nightmares of losing it.
Bitter sweet, is We.
We is family who have never had a kind word and who misrepresent you, twisting the truth into a thousand ugly lies.
We is the "friend" who has nothing to say to you but who lights up like the Crystal Cathedral at Christmas when another friend walks into the room.
We is the Pastor who calls only to ask for help, but never just because he wants to spend an hour with you.
We is the God who created perfection in Eden and now looks down at you day after day after day after day, seeing something twisted and ugly, not His perfect Adam.
We is a father who is but a vapor, a memory, a face nearly forgotten and a voice you can't recall.
We is me - a shell of misshapen clay spread haphazardly by thick thumbs over a frame that has rusted to dust and left a hollow center filled with regret.
It doesn't have a pretty ending, or so it seems. This thing. My dance with the Power of We.