Tonight I spoke with a man who truly believes.
We spoke of love, of laughter, of times past, of the future, and of faith.
First, we started with love. I spoke of my trials and tribulations, from my first romance, to my first heartbreak, and the hopeful feelings I have for my future. I told him of all the great things that love has brought me, and the maxim by which I lead my life, which I have inscribed on the very same wrist that used to bear the wounds of that very love. I told him how I can't wait for the day where I might wed a beautiful, deserving, and wonderful woman and how I would want that day to be simple, yet beautiful. I told him how he was probably the only person that I would want to be there for me, regardless of who else might like to come. He forewarned me of the pitfalls of love, using his past experiences as examples. He told me stories that enraptured me for minutes that piled into hours, and slowly taught me lessons about love.
This transitioned into the love of material, and how we share our opinion that too many people focus far too much on material things. A wise teacher once told me that everything in your life can be taken from you but your education, and the feelings you have for other people. Those words were not wasted on me, as I fear they may have been on many of my peers. I can only hope that one day I'll be able to say that I hold the love of a woman, and that I love and treat her the way she deserves in return. To say anything of what material I may have would be ridiculous and presumptuous.
We talked about how we should always strive for self improvement. He taught me to never underestimate anyone, or look down upon someone for doing something I, myself, would not do. We related stories that seemingly are very different, and came to understand that our experiences weren't that dissimilar. Understanding this, we began to glean knowledge of the combined human experience, and touch on things only philosophers and poets should concern themselves with.
Lastly, we conversed about faith. I have never known a man more devoted to his faith. No matter what blasphemous, harsh, and rude question I might poise, he would respond with clarity. You could hear him capitalize god's name. He refused to push his religion on me, instead wishing that I might never have to find it, the way he was forced into it. He told me of the horrors he had faced, from wanting suicide, to planning homicide, to even struggling to buy himself food. He told me that all those things weren't why he had obtained his faith. He told me that it took the plight of someone else, and his inability to help them for him to find god. He told me of how god lifted weight from his shoulders, and made his burdens easier to bear. He told me of the light that now fills his life, and uplifts his spirit.
His name is Edward Harold Cross.
He is my father.
Talk with your parents, you'll be surprised at what you might find out.
Listening to: lets go dancing-teitur
Reading: donald millers blue like jazz