Still

I still check over my shoulder for my mother's 2006 red Chevrolet.
Even though we've been part of the Ford family for a while now, I still have a habit of looking for that candy apple red Chevy pulling up behind me.
But I was raised in a "if you have to check over your shoulder, you're doing something wrong" household. Where it didn't really matter if you were caught in the act, God knew what was in your heart.
That weighed heavy on my childhood soul; until one day I placed it on my bed side table, where God seemed to have gotten up and walked off.
He wasn't interested in my mischief and was even less interested in helping me fix my mistakes.

God didn't walk off though; he taught me lessons I needed to learn on my own.
Because of that, I still beg Him for forgiveness.
Forgiveness isn't given just to be had, though - you have to mean it.

And I'm still waiting on apologizes I know I will never receive.
I'm still giving out apologizes of my own, though.

I still manage to pour from my cup before I let someone else's become too empty; even when I know they'll never be full.
It's hard to be full when you're grasping at straws, leaving holes in your heart, and damaging your own skin.
The only way over is through, yet we still manage to patch holes with band aids instead of glue.

We'll still raise our glass on a Friday night to toast to our friends that aren't here nor there, and the good time we're having.
And in the mornings, we'll still talk about it, like parties have gone out of style and it isn't cool to still drink out of red solo cups.

Still, we look over our shoulders.
Checking for our own demon to conquer, to overcome, to say that I left that childish shit behind me, that I'm doing better in spite of my fears.

There are some things in life you learn to live without.
Fear will never be one of them.

Hanover, Virginia