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She sits half-dressed next to the nightstand trembling… a constant reality once the night is ready to put her to bed...She shuffles her fingers over the top of the dusty leather bible she always keeps on the stand next to her pillow.  As the oldest gift she owns, it carries the echoes of pleasant memories that drizzle over the morose loneliness she now calls freedom, until her so called new found happiness is smothered in the joy of her youth.  

She contemplates a quick read as she opens the cover to look at the note inside...an often occurrence...just before reading it, she aggressively slaps it shut, smacks the light switch off, and rushes under the covers only to find herself haunted by her angels yet again...their call has her staring at the bible, the black cover almost matching the night…She speaks out loud, 

“To believe again means I have to stop transitioning….” back on the fence between gender and Jesus, she studies the night shadow her hanging, blonde wig casts on the dirty bible, finding herself spiraling through every night thoughts… reflections on a hell she’s probably bound for...she shudders from the inevitable doom of her choices...continuing with speculations of the Godless friendships she now has...she reasons with herself, “they’re nice people, there’s nothing wrong with them…hell, there’s dust on the bible anyways...” 

But she slips into the emptiness within the connections she’s currently developing.  They just don’t carry the depth that her relationships in youth had.  These people quite plainly don’t love God as much as she does...A God that might not love her but a God that she loves none- the-less… She nudges her head as close as she can to the side of the stand until she can smell the bible and allows exhaustion to calm the everyday shakes and dry her tears as she slowly nods off...
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