And I can hear the Heavens laughing already; Sharon wants to write about reading 😂ROTFLOL.
But I’ll do this anyway, I’ll write on the significance of reading, or learning as a whole. So, sit back and learn 😋
I’m not so much a big fan of reading books; It’s just not so much fun when compared to sleeping. I, however, observed something recently: when I stop reading anything at all, seeing movies (Dope movies, not dumb ones), seeing how people’s lives are trending online – via Instagram, Twitter, Facebook – I begin to get stale. Whatever I write or say seems to be void of substance – at least, so it seems to me.
“We’ll keep on falling down unless we fall in Love,” I tell him while it rains cats and dogs outside. (We’re in our room watching ‘The Hobbit’)
He (the young, fly, saved Christian) responds with laughter from the core of his being. His laughter is a mixture of water-walking faith and crippling fear that shakes the bed we’re laying on to its joints.
I’m guessing you became ‘born again’ at that Christian conference held at the stadium when that band your Christian friends stalk on Youtube was singing ‘I Surrender All’ (or was it ‘Oceans’?)
You walked to the front, bowed your head, mumbled after the preacher and walked back to your seat a changed person. You got home, cleared out your porn stash, flushed your weed and read two chapters of the bible. That night you dreamed of angels and heaven.
Tears fell from her eyes with the ease of autumn leaves.
In the deathly silence, I could hear her 16 year old heart fracturing and the voice of The Script moaning in my head…
When hearts break, they don’t break even…
“I never believed it would come to this,” she said clutching a tear soaked handkerchief to her chest. “I knew they argued a lot but I thought things were fine when they started hanging out together again. Just when I thought things were fine, they announced the divorce.”
My grandfather passed on Good Friday last year but the pain of the loss still feels fresh, like today’s coffee.
*insert picture of steaming coffee*
I hate to say it but I miss my grandfather. (Mum was right. When someone you love dies, you don’t realize how much you miss them until time has passed.) I miss his baritone laughter and his screaming at 5 o’clock.
WARNING: This piece is not for the faint-hearted or religiously inclined people who are unwilling to see
“I’ve been hypertensive since June 2015” he says, swirling a petri dish.
I look at him from the corner of my glasses. He’s about my height, with skin the colour of ripened dates and a head full of hair. He’s not many years older than me (and I’m a few months shy of 20) but he’s hypertensive.