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ok so the following is a compilation of 2 am text messages between me and this guy. i'm leaving my words normal, his in italics. it's very prosey??? i didn't write very poetically? idk, i'm not sharing this bc i think it's successful, but i think it's a TINY bit cute, and i'm writing a chapbook about peter SOOO) upon seeing jesus on the shore, peter leapt into the sea. maybe he hoped the water would carry his feet. i think, he needed a moment to breathe. or not. float. swim alone, with every fish given to him by the one who forgave his fear. who would soon ask if he loved Him thrice. underwater none of his tears would matter. for just a moment, he turned his world all dark blue. I got lost in that shade. The one between cerulean and sadness. And Jesus could see me shimmying out the curve of my doubt between the swallow of my skin below the tide, and my bouncing eyes from side to side. One piece wish he’d let me walk, another wished I could sink to the wailing wash. To crush myself to the light and let the rest rise with the sun. three breathes, a heartbeat, lungs raspy as the sand clinging static to that alive man’s feet. he trudged up, slowly, arms full, fish 153. jesus laughed. broke bread. ocean eyed and messy hair, curling into a tiny midnight ocean. held his palms up to the sky and dropped crumbs through the holes, shooting stars tight against the sun. “nice party trick, eh?” jesus asked, nudging his dripping body. all water soaked. heart all yeshua soaked. too big for peter’s tight tomb of a chest. a sea sponge too precious to squeeze. “my son, do you love me?” he asked, “the kind of love with its mouth and arms open agape.” (the son of god demonstrated arms open wide) peter, a rock in his own hand, against his own skull, and the gaping hole in his own chest, a joke of empty hands, “you,” he whispered,