My faith is soft and malleable like schoolroom clay warmed by afternoon sun. It yields to touch and twists and shapes defying all real-world models. You gotta have faith, ah faith ah faith chanting in the back of my mind.
And faith hangs on the wall. A stalwart soldier keeping watch over my heart—shielding my soul with tempered steel. No words uttered but always implied. No failures revealed but always lurking like the shopping cart bandits at 7-11. Crisis of faith
Regal in its stark simplicity faith does not budge in its hover over my head.
And if I had an anthem it would be Faith. Oh come all ye faithful
If I had a premise. A plot. Or a reason for being… Faith would suffice.
It is the flower bending in the breeze while reaching for the sun. Good faith
It is the seed from which dreams grow. Faith. The last vestige of heart.
Where does Christine’s faith lie?