What does it look like, this thing dancing around me? I can make it out in its bits and its pieces. I can tie them up or shake them out and watch them scatter. I can read the patterns in them, spending nights, forehead soaked in sweat and heart beating to the tune of my own discontent.

Their shapes are incongruous and harmonious all at the same time, and I become the rope between two sadistic kings. I am pulled back then forth. I am forced to stretch and grow but for whom I’m not sure.

Are You the peace in this? That pleasant little place in the back of my mind? The sweet, soft voice speaking in the grooves of my heart? I am weary. I need rest. I need the softness of what you are like a battered lamb, a jam-stained child.

I need You.