abandon

I grab the nearest lamppost when my knees threaten to give out, panting for breath as the words rip through me

I head in the direction of the Eiffel Tower when I exit the alley, relieved to be out of the dark.

Every gesture and every look he gives me takes me by surprise and causes my heart to stutter.

He smirks, shaking his head and letting his eyes wander. I watch him carefully, wondering what I can say to get him to leave. ____ not leaving until you answer some questions. Plus, I__ holding your sketchbook hostage, so you might want to cooperate._ I raise an eyebrow at him. I guess there isn__ much I can say. __his isn__ a hostage negotiation._ He chuckles half-heartedly as his eyes take me in, almost sizing me up. __ guess I should introduce myself._ He holds a hand out for me to shake. ____ Nathan._ I stare at his hand for a moment. __aylor,_ I reply, meeting his eyes again without taking his hand. He lets his hand fall back to his side. __t least I got you to say something non-hostile._ __ haven__ been hostile,_ I object. His eyebrows shoot up. __h, haven__ you?_ __hy don__ you leave me alone?_ I snap. __eave and don__ come back._ I move passed him, heading for my apartment. He can__ follow and annoy me if I lock the door. __here are you going?_ he demands. I look back over my shoulder and roll my eyes at him, indicating the answer should be obvious: anywhere he isn__. Once inside, I slam the door behind me. __hat was totally not hostile!_ he calls after me, sarcastically. I quickly head for my bedroom door, slamming it, too.

I take in all the colorful locks that line the bridge. Each one told a story. Each lock represented a relationship that was once special, whether it ended or turned into true happiness. The locks represented a past, present, and a possible future.

The boy took my sketchbook.

The hours tick by as I lie in bed.Memories keep surfacing, tormenting me into unbelievable sadness. I can't bring myself to move. I can't fight the memories that keep filling my thoughts. I stay curled in the fetal position as each memory plays out. I can't stop them from coming. I can't make them go away. Nothing can distract me. I can't block the memories, so they continue to come.

I'm being pulled under - father and farther from the surface. My lungs continue to scream for air. Panic is building inside me, threatening to combust. I can't break free.Help! I can't break free!I open my mouth to scream.

He drinks his coffee tentatively, glancing at me every few seconds, watching me. Every time he glances in my direction, I quickly turn away though he obviously knows I'm watching him. I know he's wondering why I'm staring at him, but he doesn't ask.I finally take a sip of coffee, set the mug back on the table, and voice what's on my mind, "I want to draw you.

One of his hands move away from my face to flatten against my back, pulling me closer to him as he deepens the kiss. He parts my lips under his as my mind seems to sign quietly in content. I kiss him back as fiercely as he kisses me, unable to control the infatuation that rushes through me - feeling almost like fireworks. Not so careful anymore.Little shivers of urgency shoot through me. I push off the window, pressing closer to him. The rush of sensation that is coursing through me feels like I've drunk a gallon of coffee. It feels like an electric buzz is flooding between us.

Night has settled over Paris.The streets have cleared of the crowds, and the city has been lit up. I set my book down, deciding to go for a walk. The Eiffel Tower is only a few blocks away. Now that there aren't many people out, I can walk there without having to fight my way through mobs of gawking tourists.

He stares at me__aking me in__ith his lips slightly parted. I struggle to hold myself in place as we gawk at each other. I want so desperately to run, but something is holding me back, keeping me in place.

There__ not much that I can find in places where there is nothing to find. However, to avoid facing God I find myself spending a lot of time in those very places.

Surrendering is intentionally laying down the power I possess. And have I considered that the power I lay down is often more powerful than that which I__ laying it down in front of? Therefore, I would be wise to recognize that surrender is less the absence of power and more the presence of fear.

To seek the praise of men as our motivation is to abandon truly great things, for more often than not truly great things elicit the ire of men far more than they garner their praises.

The paralyzing fear of being lost is fed solely by the irrational fear that we will never be found.

Far too often, it is at the moment where we finally stand on the very precipice of some great thing that we turn and abandon it, for it is at these seminal moments that fear wins and greatness dies. The beauty of Christmas is that God steps over precipices.

By choosing comfort we are in the very same decision choosing to miss every great thing in life, and that thought should be anything but comforting.