Between the letters of my writing and in the ink that bleeds onto my notebook, I feel that you are watching me. You see me and know that I am in need of saving. If I devote myself to you, will you give me life eternal? Will you count every hair on my head, read to me, and feed me my daily bread? Will you pull me apart and put me together in your image?

You create me in your image and condemn me the very same.

And yet, I find you in everything. In the song that plays in my bedroom, your skin underneath the length of my nail, and just below my blanket and between my thighs. Should I start worshiping you? You say you want devotion but I think that means death. To devote yourself to someone is to sacrifice your one and only life for them.

I say your name like a prayer and as if you are God you say nothing back.

The Heavens and the Earth watch me escape somewhere right in between, just to make space for what my hands must do after pressing my fingerprint to your skin.

In this Revelation, grace consumes every fiber of my being, and I have no one else but you to thank for that. But if you asked me to put perfume on your corpse, change your bandages, or spread the news that you are alive—

I wouldn't.

Take care,
Andre Kim Kessel