I am drowning in tears. Strengthen me as you promised. Psalms 119:28
My last view of him was a vivid flash of purple as he closed the door behind him on his way out. The purple being my anger and resentment toward his casual retort regarding my request. Why did he have to be so hard-headed when it came to these matters?
I admit, I do tend to look at things with poignant scrutiny causing him to quickly access a situation as thespian in nature. I have been somewhat of a drama queen in the past, but I have changed. Truly. There was a time when I manipulated my requests using schemes akin to the serpent’s cunning insidious methods of persuasion with Eve. But, I HAVE changed.
Now the question is: am I wrong to make such a request of him? What does he see that I do not? I exam my motives and intentions over and over seeking the answer. I sense a fever besetting me, bringing an overwhelming feeling of misery and dejection. My hunger for his love is waning and my heart is suppressing my true desires for his affection. I cry out for wisdom: where was the blame, God?
I wander the rooms aimlessly without intention or purpose. Long gone is the undertaking of setting the house in order. I glance out the window to see the sun climb from its morning abode casting dazzling rays of gold across my winter garden. Bright specks create shimmering diamonds causing my heart to ascend and I clearly grasp my beloved’s resolution.
Why was I so quick and harsh with my words? Was it so important I get my way, even at the cost of his devotion? I silenced him using plausible argument, so it seemed. As I reminisce the morning’s scene, I wince at my use of feminine designs to persuade and plot my desires. He was no fool.
How can I rectify this quandary? Can I right what was cast down and renew his faith in me? I don’t deserve his devoted affection. Yet, I know him to listen with an open heart. He always forgives and sweeps me away with his admiration for my uniqueness, those traits he finds so endearing. My faux pas has broken our trust.
As I wait for the evening to fall, I prepare for my lover’s return. I dress simply, yet with the beauty of a queen draped upon my soul, as I plan to express my admission of guilt. I cannot afford to let the sun go down upon this transgression of shame.
The door opens, he steps through bringing the last ray of sunshine with him. As I look upon his silhouette, I run into his arms and quickly speak my apology. He pulls back, gazing into my eyes. He embraces me once again and ends with a passionate kiss of forgiveness. I return his affection with fervor and delight.
Turning to lead him to our secret chamber, he gently tugs at my arm and swirls me around so that I see a small recompense for the morning’s dispute: a red velvet box of chocolates. I tumble to the ground weeping because I do not deserve this reprieve. This acquittal leaves me crying chocolate tears, sweet pieces of love in response.