opus 413

pursuit

: a really good concept,

a very passionate idea

pursuit

or, pursuing

striving?

meaningless...

the closer i get to god, the more intimate our relationship is, the easier i hear soft his voice, the more i sense his light sweet chiding for conversation, the more able i become, to wrap my head around this romance that i am walking into... my heart wants to be around him all the time, my soul thirsts for the fulfillment i find in him. my eyes are opened to an entirely new realm of closeness and love. passion. the farther i wonder into his arms the warmer i am. comfortable. his delicate creation is all around, artwork and painted landscapes, made for me. made for me. at the brink of the first creative moment, my father spoke life and beauty into nothingness, a blank canvas... and now, now he romances me with it... his tender shadow in the sunset, and mighty strength in the waves. i cannot help but fall in love with this man. my heart thrives in his presence. his genuine pursuit, drives me to give my all to him. i am willed beyond physical comprehension, to follow him. his pursuit of me. he wants me. there is no need to worry if he'll pick up the phone, or send me a message, he is constant. he doesnt need anything from me, he is my everything. he doesnt have to watch over me, or hold my hand when im scared, but he does. my father loves me. loves me. world ideas and innocent vulnerable people, throw the word around like snowballs... loving for impact. my father loves. my father loves me in a way that the word could never describe, but i offer it anyway. love. agape. unconditionally. without condition or thought of why, he loves. the birds in the sky sing louder than i do... even the caged sparrow cries out to him more often. i am not worth this. i am nothing compared to everything he is. he is my all. my heart is being sewn to his, and the pattern is up, down, swirls... the stitching so intricate, and hard to distinguish. i ask for his heart for this world... and as i grow in sensitivity and understanding, i also grow in caution, and callous... my heart hurts for his children, for me. my eyes are moist and i cannot help but cry to him... the widows the orphans the slave the broken. hope. i want to be everything for them. i want to show them a new way, a way of contentment and love. passion. peace. coexisting. fulfillment in something neverending.... living out a story that you get to mold, with him as the potter. i am clay. we are clay. i long for human contact to satisfy the place that my father lives. i am discontent with my earthly relationships, because i have been ruined for life. ive had a taste. i understand the cinematic version, i can visualize the physical attempt at what my father has perfected... but after the intensity, after the all-embracing, comprehensive, sweeping... after him, what is this? it feels cheap and meaningless because it is. the comparison is null. i ache for the physical representation though, i want to see a man that strives to accurately portray the relentless pursuit that my father has for me. i cant go back to running for them, i cannot go through the heartache and weak photo of the needy girl. i am not in need. i have the very best. the very best. i long for the holiness, the consecrated sacredness. i lounge in his purity. i know what it is to live in his passion. his passionate reality. him. i am in him. i want to be the girl that is so hidden within him, that they have to look to him for me. i want to be so distracted by my father that i couldnt bear to leave his side to pursue something that is seemingly trite, or meaningless. meaningless.