So there is nothing left for me to do. Nothing. All that remains is for me to open myself to you completely and let you do all the work for me. It's your work anyway. It never belonged to me. But even that I cannot do. My helplessness is deeper than my memory. I thought my actions served you. It was all illusion. I can’t open myself to you. I am powerless. I have to wait for you.
I am only now. I have no past or future. I am born to you each day. I am an infant in this world; I was created just this instant. In a moment I am gone.
It can only be through you that I am true. Everything is an illusion. There is only you, veiled in ever-changing shroud and mantle. You came to me in death, when I most needed you. You offered me the sweetest love, then took it all away before I could barely taste it. Everything is an illusion. There is only you.
I know you could make me love you perfectly. Yet you don’t. Are you waiting for my cooperation, the one I can’t seem to carry out? Is that what you want from me? To give it all away, to throw away the key (should you decide to give it to me), to enter into the heart and disappear? I can’t do it. I accept it now. I have learned to wait. It’s not for me to either condemn or praise myself. I will have to wait.
I remember you. I always did.