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I am wide-eyed at the thought. Horrified, captivated, dumbstruck. Finally, words. Like breath, like heartbeat, like neurons firing.

But I am breathing too fast. My heart is a mile a minute. Too many thoughts. Why we don’t have words for this, I don’t know. I should invent them. I will invent them before I die.

You are not a mystery. Did you know that? Rather, you’re a clear procession from point to point and again. I am not a mystery either. Only to ourselves do we seem obtuse, arcane, opaque.

You know me because I told you and am telling you and will always tell you. I know you because you told me. But not with words, of course. We don’t have words for these things. Instead, you resemble a map.

But that image. God is gracious, and he will take it away. Give me a minute. Give me two.

You see, it was me. Still it is me. But it was me. It was me. It was me. It was me. It was me. It was me. It was me. It was me. It was me. It was me. And repeat.