I fell in love with a boy when I was 16, and that was the end of what I knew of God.

Every love after that would end and begin a separate discourse, partly about life but mostly about what the heart does when it feels something it likes.

Every love from then on would be a lesson in rhetoric and what it means to put your best foot forward, and then to have it swept from under you and even further, to still be loved– all bowed legs and flat feet and pigeon toes. Still.

Every love to come would be a biblical exegesis on what Jesus really meant, and who God really is, and what it really means to have your cup run over with whatever it is you need when you need it, finally, and after so long.

Every love since then has been, for me, a tesseract, a magnification, a boiling down. A legion of levels that I let level me completely in both their entrances and exits.

Been, for me, a trance, an unbreakable gaze, a fast for days, a feast after famine, a heavenly damnation and consolation for every loss.

A new definition, a present participle always doomed to one day live in the past, a past life intent on being present– presenting itself again, much the same, but very different as well. The difference between deferred dreams and dastardly deeds and diving into something with no fear of falling.

When the fear of failing started to weigh less than what it might feel like to never know a feeling at all, my grasp on theology and doctrine began to loosen.

I abandoned whatever man-made totem kept me in the dark in the first place and reached for a more bearable cross– one that was easier to want to hold on to but one that wouldn’t always want to be held.

And, as one would imagine, my hold on a thing would sometimes outlast that thing’s desire to be held and I would end up back at an ending and a beginning all its own.

A new conversation, a new entrance, a new aspiration more important than the perspiration it took to develop.

A new development in the mind’s eye that changed the way I looked at love and looked at Heaven and looked at whatever demons bit at my backside.

It wasn’t always easy to begin again. It is very rarely ever easy to begin again. I was brave then. And now I watch monoliths fall, with no fear of the future. 

I fell in love with a boy when I was 16, and that was the end of what I knew of God.