God is King. Into His hands I place myself and commend my spirit. I beg for his Mercy, and I ask that by his Grace I may have the strength to do what I need to do. Heavenly Father, thank you for everything you have given to and done for me. I count the days, hours and minutes from the hour of my birth; and, it has become clearer to me than ever before, the purpose of my existence is known only to God. So I keep counting, not with numbers but with experiences.
Ahead of me are experiences which may visit my life, and there are some experiences which are inevitable. However much time I have left, I pray that it is in the service of and for the greater Glory of God.
I cannot count what has not yet happened, but I can dream. Now my dreams and nightmares have mingled. I try to be impartial and consider these reveries as being only this, but they are palpably forming in and shaping the course of my life. If I could communicate this, it could make an interesting story. From all of this one truth reveals itself: aside from God, I stand alone in this world. This realization peels away the nonsense with which I tried to associate in order to buffer myself from truth.
I allowed myself to be a secret, to be a phantasm, to be hidden away as a guilty pleasure: by permitting this, exactly this has happened. Now, I am a ghost. It all began when I asked God to bring love into my life: to allow me to love and to let myself be loved. Oh, this is no excuse, nor am I blaming God; my condition is entirely of my own doing.
Perhaps you ask yourself, "How can a ghost write?" This is how it all happened...
(idea for, So Nary a Song Said She. 5 days since my heart sang again; 25 days until tomorrow's song)
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