I stood at the meeting point
between appetite and eternity,
confused by pleasures
that smiled like lovers
yet fed like graves.

Sin never entered screaming.
It came softly.
With beautiful eyes.
With warm hands.
With promises that tasted like freedom
but left torment in the marrow.

And afterward came the residue.

The strange emptiness.
The silent stain upon the soul.
The feeling of carrying darkness
even while speaking of light.

I became divided within myself.

One part of me longed for God
like John leaning upon the breast of eternal Love,
and another part still wandered
through the fading corridors of flesh
searching for life among dead things.

I touched what wounded me.
I drank what hollowed me.
I called chains pleasure
because they glittered in the night.

But deep within me
something refused to die.

A cry remained.
A small trembling flame
beneath the ruins of desire.

Then I saw Him.

Jesus.

Not distant.
Not condemning.
But standing before me
with wounded hands stretched open
as though mercy itself had taken form.

And in His eyes
there was no confusion.

Only knowing.
Only love ancient enough
to survive all my running.

“Come.”

That word entered me
like light entering a locked room.

And suddenly the pleasures I protected
began to lose their beauty.
The things that once mastered me
looked small before His presence.

I felt my old garment falling.
The hidden man of corruption,
the secret stains,
the weight of inward decay.

And slowly
He clothed me in another life.

A life not born from desire
but from light.

Now I walk toward Him
with trembling and tears,
leaving behind the sweet poison of Egypt
for the unbearable beauty
of becoming holy.