P​.​S. I love you, P​.​S. I love you like in a song

by Christian Welch

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This album is about love(multiple aspects of it). It's about God, as, without God, there would be no love. There wouldn't be anything. It is about what it is about. Feel free to listen, pass it around, talk about it, ask me about it. Whether you agree or disagree with any of it, I know it to be the truth. I know love to be as important as it is.

1 Corinthians ch. 13
The Greatest Gift
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of
angels, but have not love, I have become sounding
brass or a clanging cymbal.
2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand
all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith,
so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am
3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and
though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it
profits me nothing.
4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love
does not parade itself, is not puffed up;
5 does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not
provoked, thinks no evil;
6 does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;
7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things,
endures all things.
8 Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they
will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether
there is knowledge, it will vanish away.
9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part.
10 But when that which is perfect has come, then that
which is in part will be done away.
11 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as
a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put
away childish things.
12 For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.
Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am
13 And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the
greatest of these is love.


released April 30, 2014

I thank Him so much for the ability and the chance to do all that I do. For every single word, every single moment, every single person, without Him, and without Jesus Christ, and Their words, all that God is, all that Jesus taught and did, without His life, death, and resurrection, I, and it all, would be nothing, but through it, it is what it is, and will be what it will, and I am who I am, myself, and who I am going to grow to be.
Recorded and slight edits done by Mario Caroscio from Vanquish Studios(as well, thank you to Joe from VS)
Thank you to Josh Bramos for referring me to VS
I thank anyone who has supported, does and will support me and/or what I do
I thank the people that helped bring me to God and Jesus Christ
I thank God for love, for all of the love that He is, and all that He has blessed us with.
Honestly, odds are, I thank Him for you.
Reiterating, I thank Him for everything, everyone, and every moment in and around my life.




Christian Welch Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Spoken Word

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Track Name: For He so loved...
“For He so loved the world, that God gave His only Son.”
If we could act with even a percentage of this amount of love, we would go so far in our search for humanity.
The furthest distances that we can put between ourselves and others is the denial of love. All other distances, be it time, or land, or length of letters, moments of strife or being distraught, all of them, can be traversed, but the suppression and oppression of love is the only thing that will keep you and others apart. No, maybe you are not burning bridges by being idle, but you are definitely not stopping the process. Structures only crumble when man neglects them. Remember yourself. Remember that you are human. You are the root of humanity. It comes down to you.
Track Name: you are
leave a message on your mirror, saying “I love you.” When you wake up in the morning, write “I love you more.” When it is today, write “I love you as much as I possibly can.” for when you know the truth, you become a love letter, slowly opening its self, so hold this inside of you, that your body is a temple, with so many words scrawled across its insides, that you are the loudest thing known to man, you are an orchestra, made of bones, a Ferris wheel made up of songs, you light entire cities up, the electricity, and the copper in your blood wired so much so wisely,
while you sleep, your mind simultaneously creates and perceives images,
you have the ability to raise and lower your own body temperature which means that you are in control of how hospitable you are for the sustaination(sustainment) of your living,
your brain has grown so much that it began to fold in on itself just to fit inside of your skull,
you are so intricately constructed, made up of dust the same as stars, there are lists of likeness’, your eyes filled with so much brightness collected over some thousands of years,
growing inside of you, there is a tree of light, know that you are not covered in blemishes, but in beauty marks, every crevice of you meant to be, be you, and want nothing of others’ because if you were to have been them, then you would have, but you have not been being what that is, you are being what you are, and you are the reason that the shades move in the morning, you are the warm home of someone who has only known cold people, your wooden skeleton needn’t be forsaken and left shaking on any other foundations than that the solidity of rock, such as the fact that Someone loves you,
Someone loves you so much that They sent Their only Son to die for you,
your blood has the ability to keep peace, every hug you hug has the ability to pull guns and cigarettes out of people’s mouths,
every time you love you are loved and you should love yourself for the love that you are,
for what you have been given and for what you have the ability to give, there will be riot shields and knives into your rib cage and yet you will still kiss,
you will die and yet you still have the ability to live, you can change the world by slow dancing with tanks, possibly more important, you can change someone’s life by slow dancing with nervousness and sweaty hands. The anxiety, it comes from fear, and you are afraid of all of the wrong things.
The darkness goes away when you awake, and open your eyes. Maybe you have screwed up, but you are still alive which means that there is still time to grow,
maybe you have found fault in your skin, but we both know that flesh is shallow,
we’ve learnt that from razors and bike rides, maybe someone has said something so misleading to you that you fell far from the right path,
but understand that we are not to live by the thoughts of man, but by the words of God, and from His mouth you have become the transpiration of the utmost installation of unconditional love, more interwovenly and carefully designed down to every specificity fathomable,
you are more beautiful, as yourself,
than anyone could have ever imagined.
Track Name: Will the circle be unbroken?
When I was young, my grandmother faked a heart attack as a joke.
6th grade was my earliest memory of wonderment about God. I knew inside that my morals could be in a better place, that I could and should be a better person, I don’t know if by standards a school bus can be considered a church, but it was the first time I really felt a want to communicate with God. Me and my mother don’t talk much. Not out of dislike, we just don’t. And so there are ghosts. And so there are beings in other places, like my mirror, which I finally began to look into again. And so I hope every poem to be a hymn, hanging like the wrists of us as we all are fish, trying to shoot ourselves inside of the barrel. A hope that I might hear something that will bring me to where I need to be, because if I can live with myself, then surely I can live with them. And when beds are made of pools of our past and we finally sleep sound, I hope I won’t of wasted away any final moments, will there be anyone left in the end?
When I was a kid, my grandmother faked a heart attack as a joke. I freaked out. A few years ago my great uncle found my grandmother on our couch, the hospital diagnosed her with diabetes and said that had it been another ten minutes, she would have died. I have never been so calm in my life. My grandmother has always been an angry person, but now when she yells, I can tell that it must be out of fear, when she speaks of me leaving, I can feel how it must wrench, like pipes, trying to fit sound too big for their bodies. Like a church organ, built for Heaven, but by someone who does not know its distance. I’m still not sure if a school bus can be considered a church, but my truck is a sanctuary on late nights when the jersey barriers on the side of the highway are promises that I want to make to myself, when I want an intersection to wrap around my body. I am wondering why I think about thinking about these things as if life were a faded photograph of eyes of universes already dead but pulling themselves apart trying to find the good things, I do see the good things. My mother is not a ghost story I cringe at over fires or flashlights. My mother is incredible. And yet I know, when my breath leaves me out of distrust of my will, when a stone is to be still over my head, the single thing I will feel distain over, is that I didn’t put in the effort to spend more time with her.
Track Name: it is not fluffy
When my fingertips become the steepened cliffs of waterfalls, the palm side of my hand so intricately built like a sideways city, sinking, the drops of water on my hand look like time lapsed traffic, and everything is paused, spinning around me like proof of a pink rabbit that I am trying to find, It is not fluffy, it is stone in its silence and it is silence that comes here when I think I hear you, my heart a vintage record player waiting on your vinyl linings to linger you soft singing daughter of such a wonderful producer, you keep notes folded into your arms for the days when you and music are the only two things that will hold you and tell you that it’s still OK to feel like this, it’s still OK to believe that you can feel something in the future, the future is that part of the song that you are so anxiously awaiting, you make sense to me, a proposal that I will be so vaguely forward about, maybe I don’t need to find Fluffy tonight because I found you, you and I the pieces missing in the world, maybe your heart beat to be a song that changed my life, maybe your lips a dance tonight, held in the arresting hands of a choking guitar a top a roof top, a sound booth left to capture no less than the sound you produced, you’re beautiful with the recording light on, you’re beautiful when you are and nothing less than the noises we make, I say one night wrought of restless legs in a sleepless city, one night when the playlist is a man deciding to get sober, this place is a liquor store he is standing in when he makes this decision, you are a decision I will somehow make, I just do not know how to play your song yet, you said it is already here, my dear I fear to fall in love with you, your soundtrack is so sweet, what happens when the songs stop, what happens when liquor is all there’s left to drink, I do not believe in drinking alcohol just like I do not believe in listening to bad music, you are songbird, you are Nora, and infinite in all of your finite things, plentifully pinned of the kind of types that I find wonderful when in time’s teaching of finding these that mean something to me, nor a story, any less, the blind bid, the bride unsung but touched in lung, still, with the strumming of my own breathlessness, a couch we found in plain sight, our eyes to catch the sounds of our fingers when playing sign, I will sketch things into your arm, I will sketch the lyrics to my favorite songs onto the side of your neck, we will find them later and feel blessed by something so much bigger than us, I remember when my fingers were innocent, you make my fingers feel innocent, not like when they are the hardened clouds of downpours, the music turns my anxiety down, you seem to do the same thing, so maybe cheesy but hey I think we need this joke, I feel like we can be ear buddies, huddled together with the honest parts of ourselves aware of the fact that we are aware of the miniscule space that the electrons force between our bodies, acting like we’re trying not to settle into each other, one of us telling the other to wait because the part is coming up, smiles on our faces, not looking to each other, but still understanding the stillness, waiting for the hook, to catch us catching each other catching the others eyes…
Track Name: P.S.
As you lay there, holding the hands of someone that you trust, you both know that they’re just waiting on a train, a train that’s going to take them very far from here. Maybe it swallows them whole, maybe it catches an arm and drags them until they look nothing like you remembered, maybe they catch a ride. Some people pass on, some people move on. They tell you that the most difficult thing to do, and the goal, is to let go, but it’s not. It’s to keep in touch.

because you’ll wait, seemingly a life time, you’ll read and read and marvel and resist and become angry and become infatuated, you will give everything you have, draining out over the length of whatever we have scratched into the bodies of our embodiments, for a simple few words, ones that we don’t even care to add until after all of the space allotted to us, the postscript, as that that comes after writing, as having been added after the end of the story, as post-summation, post-staring at yourself, post-staring at others, post-settled, post-stillness, post-sound, post-silliness, post-side stitches, all jokes aside, post-sorrow, post-substance, post-selfishness, post-selflessness, post-suffering, post-sometimes, post-some things, post-student, post-susceptible, post-stretched out, post-seeing the world for the way that it is, post-searching, post-still searching, post-sin, post-sin forgiven, post-so many more chances, post-saying everything, after all of the words, all of the songs, all of the moments, after all of the hugging, after every kiss has existed, at the end of every life, there is still one more thing to be said. After it all is said and done. Down at the bottom. By the time we least expect it. Your Father has said it. Your father, your mother, your grandparents, and the rest of the people who you may or may not consider family, be it by blood or by meaning, every friend that you have ever had, every person that you have answered the phone for, anyone who has seen conversations with you long into tomorrow, anyone who has never gotten a reply back from you, everyone that you were either kind or hard towards, that person who you hurt, that person who hurt you, who lent either their eyes or their knives to your back, the ones who were, are, or will be in your life, the people who you remembered to cherish every single day of it, the ones that you forgot about for weeks or months at a time, the ones you forgot about entirely, yourself. When we know that there is only time for the truth in the utmost of honesty, in these moments are where we find out what it all amounts to. Maybe we can learn to not let ourselves take so long to realize its truth. A hope… That, along with taking the time to realize it, we can take the time to look into the eyes of those in our lives, those around us, and say “I love you.”