How many times has it been empty?
The Eucharisto been just more words.
One more thing to say. The emotions gone, leaving me mechanical.
Even for the thing I am so most thankful for.
Somehow, just saying it,
Even on the days, in the dark moments, when I'm not sure,
Not sure I even believe it,
Just saying it makes it more real.
The words, escaping my lips, passing by my heart.
Thank you for your love.
Said so many times, but how often do I remember what a part of me they are? How they are what shapes me, makes me who I am.
How it is the only reason I am.
It is real.
You are real.
You are good.
You are God.
Even here, even now, writing these words, black on white, etches them deeper into my oh so granite heart.
They are true.
This......... This I know. This I am sure of
So once again, I give thanks.