Run my fingers through your hair; it is soft, smooth, and lovely. They spill onto my skin, like rays of sunshine on a clear morning, like a vast ocean of gentle waves.
You smile slightly and close your eyes, because you like it. I like it too, if you do. I catch whiffs of clean shampoo accompanied with your natural scent; like a soothing lullaby, like the tempting call of the night. But outside, it is bright daylight.
I think they call this hagod. It’s not an English word, but it can be split into two English words. Ha, God. Good Friday is tomorrow, it is the day where Jesus dies to save our sins. Maybe, Jesus should just instead eat a cookie. Because we are all going to sin again, so he might as well just eat a cookie. I’ll bake Jesus a cookie. A chocolate chip cookie with crunchy sides and moist insides, and not too salty like how I messed my last cookie up.
Your eyes close, and I am reminded that there are some things about you that I will never understand. Like how you are always kicking your legs. Like how you use your phone too much in bed. I’ll bake you a cookie too, so you’ll hopefully sit still and stop always using your phone.
Ha, God. I run my fingers through your hair again, this time your face displays expressionless contentment. I wonder if God thinks about chocolate chip cookies. Why am I so obsessed with cookies. I wonder if God laughs at me. I wonder if God bites into cookies.
[she bites God in the wrist]
; 