I once told myself
the things I would do if I got here.
I once whispered to my own ears
how I would praise your name—
if only I arrived.

But now that I am here,
none of it has been done.

My heart is clouded with many things.
The blessings you gave—
they’ve grown dull in my distracted hands,
and I’ve seen them as vain.
Not a single thank you
has passed from these unclean lips.

If you were a man,
I would be the first you'd strike—
an ungrateful soul
who remembers your presence
only when desires are denied,
and drifts away like chaff
when they are fulfilled.

But now I see my fault:
it was never you I sought.

Still, you gave.
Still, you stayed.
You never left me behind,
even when I was gone.

If this isn’t love—
what then is it?