The answer is right under your nose.

All is well for now but hell is far too close to turn this car around when the only ones making any sense are playing kickball and smoking candy cigarettes. This Is My Suitcase's "Some Grand Romantic Gesture"

I loathe Valentine's Day. Consequently, I had a pretty good one. No reservations. No grand romantic gestures. (Partly because I don't think there is such a thing as a grand romantic gesture if you waited to do it as obvious a day as Valentine's Day) No nothing. Stayed home. Ate store-bought sushi. Played (and won) Trivial Pursuit. Watched a movie. Went to bed. Total cost? About 12 bucks.

My mom and I talked. Both of my parents are born again Christians. Somehow we got on the subject of faith and the Bible on the way home from the grocery store. The grocery store! That's an awfully short trip for such heavy topics. I think that it all started from some mention of my mother's disapproval of "the homosexual lifestyle." Not hatred of the people themselves. Just the lifestyle. Her words not mine. We agreed to never agree with each other on that. But that ultimately led to our faith discussion.

I told her that I do believe in some sort of higher being. I mean that only makes sense right? It had to all start somewhere. Could be God. Could be Allah. Could be Bruce Springsteen. I don't know. But there must be something bigger. I mean people in churches go nuts sometimes. Not in an actually crazy way but more in a "Wow they've got some passion" way. But I've never been jealous of that. I've always had that.

I feel close to god sometimes. Not in big churches. Usually much smaller spaces. And everyone around me is smiling and dancing. Everyone has their hands up. Kids are flying with a little help from their friends and strangers. All the girls' make-up is running but no one is crying. Everyone is singing hard. Everyone knows all the words. I got there clean and I'll leave with a little bit of everyone on me. Whoever is behind that microphone speaks the truth. There is no doubt about that. It's been documented in vinyl grooves scratching along in our bedrooms.