the one with the well

It was sunday, saturday I had yet again made the mistake of staying at the base as I went through the weeks notes, the things that had been doug up resounded round my mind. I sat frustratedly looking out the window at the rain.

Sunday night I had made the effort to go out with everybody and not be exlusive but groups and decisions werent a compatible mix. As they headed out of the pizza bar the real madrid game continued and i headed in the other direction, i craved alone time and to explore the streets of alcala again, i wanted to head for the bar with the well, the one with the quirky light fitting and gorgeous old wood beams, somewhere that was my escape normally with hannah and i wasnt about to tell the others about .

As i sat looking around I pulled my notebook out and started to write in my normal sarcastic and slightly bridget jones style, but stopped and started to speak to god, craving peace not the turmoil that was inside, I wrote my conversation with him as we conversed.

I left the bar feeling calm, and like he was there beside me, the streets were beautiful in the night air as i headed back to the base for the next week, treasuring my alone time and freedom, god was good and his peace was better than any else I could run to, no matter how good i was at running, just had to get used to putting into practice talking to him instead of running off.