Do you love me today?
Of course you do.
Before my creation.
After my breathing slows to silence.
When I do it right.
When I screw it up.
When I love you back.
When I spit in your face.
When I fall for lesser things and when my obedience smells sweet like release.
Do you love me. But of course. From the first moon to the billionth star you love me and I cannot escape it. It is fact, reality, and every beautiful thing, a tightly woven fairytale of truth.
But will you love me today.
And will I let you love me today, a trilogy.
Will you love me…. my need laid bare in front of your glory.
Will you love me…. because pitch loneliness from the depths out to aching fingertips spans the moon and stars and blankets my nest for four. All of the nests.
Will you love me….because apart from today’s dose of unleavened bread, I have nothing to give to the sick, the sad, the wandering, and that only covers the folk in my own four walls.
The death out there? Too much.
But then you’ve covered that already haven’t you and you don’t ask me to walk a road other than the one I’m on.
Will I let you love me.
Release and surrender and unclench my expectant fists.
Can I unroll the secret places within, desires unspoken for their sacredness, the depth of their connection to who I was created to be. Their sacredness, desires poured into my core before I was flesh. Can I trust you to love me raw and ratty when I’m nothing but need. Do you see my desires as foolish and selfish, flesh destined to be killed or worse, distilled down to a fragrant offering.
But you formed me.
And so the shape of me is beautiful to you whether it’s been killed or distilled or run over by the Big Mac Truck of Life.
Desire, born of the soul. Dreams, authored by you.
Not flesh to be killed or sacrificed, but hope.
Belief in predicated assignments.
There is always more to give.
Always more to sacrifice.
Always. My days.
Refining the me that you gave me.
With empty hands I will let you come to me. You already have.