Day 68: What were the words again?
“The church is fallen.”
It was something I thought about almost constantly, so I must have had words for it — but what were they?
I told my sister hiking in the narrow sunlight, the grays, greens, and sudden shocks of red, of the Oak Creek Canyon. I told my parents in the kitchen, prepping a meal or cleaning it up. I told my roommates Dylan and Josiah while we sat around shooting the shit. I told my friend Bethany over the phone, cleaning a church building. I never told my brothers at all.
Did I get what I wanted from these tellings? I’m not even sure what that would have been. All I know is that I was the only person I knew who believed what I did. And somehow, I suppose, I hoped the right words — but what were they? — could change that.