(3) Letters of Saint Paul: Tired

Paul of Tarsus

777 Romana Rd

Tarsus, TK 43747

The Lord doesn’t like the heart on the mantlepiece. I think He’s jealous. It tries to talk to me, too. Gregory’s heart (still not yours, I’m afraid), it’s always anxious. It palpitates faster when I’m around. It wheezes through organ pipes. It sounds like a choir of tired. I’m tired. Are you? I really hope you’re coming back soon, you know. You’re late. I’m sorry. You’re probably just caught up. I can wait. I will. The Lord tries to crush Gregory’s heart at night. I don’t think she’d like that very much, and, given how hard it is to walk around without a heart anymore anyways, I can’t imagine the difficulty of living without one. Then again, I’ve never tried it. I never try anything anymore. When the Lord picks out my teeth with His Holy Nails, He lets a hand slide behind His back, reaching for the heart on the mantlepiece. But I always stop Him. No touching, I say. I hold the heart in my hands and rub it. It feels loose. Degrading. Ashamed of itself. It’s having severe moral decay. Maybe I should give it back. Then again, it’s a nice decorating touch. I do wish you would come home. Oh, and my vision’s come back. That really shook my faith, but I’m hoping the Lord will fix me up again.

Sometimes, Paul

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