• Who knew a god could live inside a soul, a frail body. And yet, one cannot recover and extract that god themselves. Wounds must heal and new ones made. The cycle continues, but one cannot be purified without their god revived.
    The god, the dead light, is shrouded with others: the lowly ones. Lust, sadness, worry, hate, regret, even happiness. They ask no questions. Just give and take. Chip away at the meaning of the god. Now, we cannot tell the difference. No matter who we are, our gods look exactly like the others. And our foolishness resides.
    Then, without warning, we fall into our own gods arms, warm and comforting. We want to stay, although we are blind to the truth. And we ask questions and fears: "I'll hurt you..." "Why do I feel this way for you?" "What is this feeling?"
    You might be torn away from your god. Left to tears and loneliness and pain, waiting for the rekindling of the flame of our god. Left waiting, wanting...but don't loose faith. No matter what.