There it lies. You asked me for it. You asked for me to lay it down upon that altar. A precious thing to me: A dream I've dreamt for years and years and finally had a taste of. But now? Now I must leave it lying there . . . and the ache within me nearly kills.
And I must walk away from that which was so dear, so longed for even. I cannot pick it up. Even though it felt so right and sweet. Even though it was a dream I dreamt for half my life.
You can have whatever of me that you wish. I will keep nothing from you - you can have my Isaac even.
Artwork: Worship (c) Marybeth Stafford