The Game of Prose

“Loved”

His fingertips are lightning bolts; reaching out for impact. Each flash of light is contact and it shakes the planet. His voice echoes for miles and if it weren’t for the trees, we’d all be wiped out. But these electric bolts aren’t limited to destruction. They cut hearts to change them, and burn bad habits like fire at the butt of a last cigarette. His hands surround a single orb of life in a galaxy of dead globes and we’re alive because of Him. He breathes over space like a whisper with the force of a thousand hurricanes. He says, “I’m here,” and for the first time it feels like all of creation could explode into a million stars and it would be alright. He is the Alpha and the Omega. His will cannot be stopped. The greatest reassurance for this speck of a being that I am, is that He sees me. He sees us. We are loved.

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