Untitled (Press)

I'm restless.
My feet ache to pace the newly-mowed grass
and I can no longer keep pushing this desire away.
I tuck my small, blue ipod into my front pocket,
arrange my journal, folder, and recently removed flip-flops
underneath my jacket, and tread softly over the grass,
bible in hand, following my feet as they lead me across the park.
I can see the other people there
sprawled out, all alone, sitting, standing...
and yet I ignore them as I cross quickly to
the cloudy water of the lake.
Perching carefully on a rock sitting half submerged in the water,
I dangle my fingers off the edge,
skin lightly trailing through the water.
For some reason, this action has soothed my restlessness,
and I am again able to open up, and explore Your love...
The music changes, song to song, and still I sit,
hands alternately stroking pages, and the murky cold water.
I talk to You as I sit.
Hesitantly at first, scared to open up and acknowledge
myself, my actions, my desires, my thoughts...
but soon discover a borderline-obsessive need to spill-
spill everything, spill thoughtsdesiresactionsself
I'm done and I feel a sense of... peace? acceptance?
as if all I'd told You was nothing new, and You'd already forgiven.
The rock has turned cold, and I jump up and run,
carelessly and without a destination stopping
when I reach my own grassy hill, and throwing
myself down into the grass and staring up at the newly forming clouds.
A need for sharing comes over me so sharply
I gasp slightly and my face is suddenly plunged into darkness
by Your shadow as You tower over me.
As though You can read the half-formed request in my mind-
request, or need, I haven't quite determined-
You lay next to me, on top of that hill,
under the scarcely clouded sky, and together we lay in silence,
a silence in which we share everything,
a silence I am loathe to end, but must break,
as the distant shapes of all the others stand up slowly,
ambling over to chat with one another as
they head back to the bus, back into the present,
and I must follow.