It hurts.

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I offer every scintilla of shame, failure, loss, and hurt over to God.  I don't do it with anger, or a form of shame, or with anything negative.  I do it with the most magnificent gratitude I can honestly muster.  For all the pain and all that is gone, I am thankful to have seen love, life, women, the world, and to realize there is more.  I am blessed in a bath, never-ending shower, of my own tears.

I often hope that, even if this place seems dark, that I might show others the light in the darkness.  I don't deserve the gifts I have received.  If they are all taken, I will yet be grateful.  If I must drag through, on the streets, I will yet be grateful.  Does it hurt?  Of course.  And from that gifts flow.  Christ taught in life and in dying.  And, so, I bless Jesus and accept any burden.  Amen.  He knows pain as only even I can dream.  Yes, a blessing, a blessing He still knows.

While I cannot kill him, I will suffer for resisting.  He wants me terribly.  There is a price for denying the friend of the princes of the world.  I will pay that price.

I am not the only one to pay.  Not fair?  Not.  They were... supposed to survive me.  Truly, not my call.

I suppose it is time to begin walking again?  It hasn't, always, been a choice.  So be it.

Good night.