oh Julien, what am i if not layers of regrets and trepidations? 

as a concept or as a subject of worship? as a companion, Julien. as someone to beg, someone to blame, someone to bow to, someone to betray. call me reductive and i'll shove it right back to your damn throat. he's a God, Julien. i am an ugly duckling, trying to make a sense out of this miserable life. repenting for the things i could have done, chances that i could have take, paths i could have choose. anxiously pacing back on forth as i wait for people to decide whether i am good enough (the answer is always a faint shake, if you're wondering). he's a God and i am the losing dog they kept betting on. how can i, out of all entities, be reductive?

i don't want to argue with your logic. if i am me through geography then so be it. i told you this is a ceasefire. a momentary truce between me and my deteriorating state of mind. this is the path that i resort into. so what about it? at least God doesn't question why i have teeth marks all over my wrist. or why i kept my hair short. or why i stared into an empty bottle of soap for hours. he'll burn me for some things that i have done and i'm fine with that. i know i deserve it. they said that there's no sin bigger than biting your own hand, especially without getting anything worthy out of the pain you have put yourself through. oh i am a sinner after all.

it's so peaceful, Julien. i am home wherever i am because God is with me. i spent my entire life gnawing on the bar of my enclosure and it's a bad comedy. this is the liberation you've been preaching about. it matters, Julien, it matters how we live our life. the things we put our hands into. when i put my hand on God, i knew that I crushed you, the way you had crushed me every time you came back home all drunk and bloody. my love, my darling. i'm not trying to make you to be anything. i'm just trying to save myself. isn't that what i ought to do? we were born to survive after all. in every calamities, in every fallen empire. there are prices to be paid.

i'm drifting now. like a hollow driftwood. wherever the wind takes me. i said hail to the King. God save us in the ways we cannot possibly fathom. through loneliness and desperation. through chains of bad news and rejected prayers. oh maybe i am, losing, Julien. maybe i am losing myself in this war, but i gained him so what more can i ask? who am i to say anything? Julien, Julien, Julien. what more can i say? when i lost myself and gained God, what more can i say?

what more can i say?

what more can i?

what more