A Poem Called Gas Station

Oh, but perhaps you’re not meant to be a gas station

accepting short stops and farewells within a short amount of time.

Perhaps loving someone should feel more like

 a side by side walk through the forest,

not a one man, exhausting kind of climb.

Oh, but, perhaps you’re,

not created to have others only sprint to you when they notice they’re on low.

Not meant,

 for giving away all your entirety so another being, they may flow.

And perhaps you were meant to be a human,

a daughter or son of the Creator and King,

perhaps a relationship of love mimicking the gospel,

to you, He solely desires to bring.

And perhaps we are far too eager for attention from another human soul,

perhaps we forget this world wasn’t created,

so we could fit that mold.

Perhaps we are not gas stations, as people ignore our names

and only seek the closest,

as if our love is some countdown type of game.

Perhaps they’ll break down before they get to us,

so they lean all weight upon the accelerator.

Perhaps we’re not meant to pour out as we are passed by.

Oh, but perhaps you’re not meant to be a gas station,

Perhaps you’re meant for something much greater.

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