“Those kids are passionate about something. That’s important. That’s all there is, really, is passion. Passion is what makes for good treatises, good relationships, good pizza, good friends. Good everything. Including wars.”
Legend has it that a Spanish ship crashed off the shore of Assateaque Island and a group of horses swam to shore.
Holding my breath too soon, I had to gasp for air when she asked me the final question.
“Who is your Savior?”
It started with a small, seemingly insignificant wave. A few days later there was a gentle knock on the door. William called out, “Cecelia? You have visitors.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
With only fifteen minutes to get from Downtown to Buckhead in afternoon traffic, I impatiently sighed as the light turned red. Annoyed, I looked out the window and straight into his old, worn eyes.
When we found her, she had squeezed her small body under a pile of garbage. Her head was shoved in a broken piece of plywood. Later, we found out this is because she thinks no one will find her if her head is hidden.
Holding my breath too soon, I had to gasp for air when she asked me the final question.
“Who is your Savior?”
You know the scene: a glowing bride walking down the aisle with all eyes held fast, hearts slowing as the onlookers are captivated by her radiance. Yet there I was, standing in a bridal shop in a gorgeous gown, trying my hardest to keep glowing as he stared downwards at a piece of paper in his hand.
