True belief, like the faith a child holds and gives, is rare to see from an adult, as if the very growth of a child causes him to exhaust his supply of faith.
The tether of his faith has worn thin from being overstretched, and he finds himself wandering in places he shouldn’t go. Even though it hasn’t broken, he knows the hand that holds the other end gives him a lot of slack, not from neglect or a lack of care, but from the knowledge that true love always has a loose grip.
Finding his way back home is easier than he wants it to be (excuses are more difficult to make up), and he wonders if rest can be found in the places he’s grown weary of and weary in. Even as the sun sets and travellers get lost in the dark, he’s still looking for a place to lay his head down.