Witness

I told you about Jesus. I believed the stories I’d Grown up with. He was the path to heaven. You were my best friend. Born a Sikh, you grew up with Different stories. I told you about him, and then I Told you you’d go to Hell without him. Not because I Was being mean, or manipulative, but because you were My best friend. And I wanted good things for you.

You let me finish telling you about Jesus. You told me You were a Sikh. And that you’d die to protect my Right to believe in a Jesus that would send people to Hell.

It took me some time to realize that my circle of love Included you only on condition, while your circle included me, unconditionally.

 _told you Jesus, the story I carried like bone._ _You, Sikh, a different song in your blood._ _I said hell, meaning only to save you, clumsy with love._

_You listened, then offered your own truth:_ _To die for the space where I could believe even this._

_Later, the slow burn of knowing:_ _My hand open only so far, yours without end._