On her latest offering, Lover, Taylor Swift – my longtime friend, thinker of my selfsame thoughts, provider of the soundtrack to every heartbreak in my life – sings a lyric that, when I first heard it, struck me with fear. “I hope I never lose you, hope this never ends / I’d never walk Cornelia Street again / that’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend”.
How could Taylor tell me that some heartbreaks might never heal? Isn’t her entire discography devoted to the incredible elasticity of the heart to last through any trial? This song took me back to a time when I thought I’d never recover from heartbreak. Unsurprisingly, I did. But “Cornelia Street” makes me wonder: is the next heartbreak the one that’ll really end me?
“let it go / let it leave / let it happen / nothing in this world was promised or belonged to you anyway” – Rupi Kaur
I’ve been thinking recently about what it means to live with open hands: holding onto nothing too tightly except the promises of God, because only they will not pass away. In reading through Hebrews and James recently, this theme has been made abundantly – and uncomfortably – clear to me.
For if and when we go above, the question still remains:
Are we still in love, and is it possible we feel the same?
– “Morph”, Twenty One Pilots
If you don’t listen to Twenty One Pilots, you should.
In understanding the broader narrative of the Bible, we often make the story about us instead of about who God is.
I thought that forgiveness would be the final destination on the long road I’d walked – a summit, almost. But when you get to the top of a mountain, you remember that there’s work to be done in order to get back down to the bottom.
It’s not a purity ring or a promise ring. It’s definitely not an engagement ring.