thoughts as one would pull onto the 500 south on-ramp when they were facing west into the sunset, with the window down slightly at 59 miles per hour:
life is perfect
he smiles slightly when she talks about the revolution, can't stop himself, doesn't catch himself
God is beautiful
life is perfect
need to find an amp
miss coffee with Ashley
the sunset is beautiful and the weather is perfect
its always the little things
pray pray pray
every little thing about his smell and his face
"it's the wrong kind of place"
life is perfect because
God is perfect
iced coffee in the sun and my pants rolled up and no sweater on
"is that alright with you? put my gun away when it's loaded"
righteous by faith
grasping at straws sometimes made
life perfect.
and always, it is beautiful.