He wasn't his own. He didn't have to protect himself with facades, didn't have to lock himself away. Because, oh, how he would. Sin and shame would have driven him inside of himself, there wouldn't have been any other options but hiding in disgrace. It didn't matter what reality – he couldn't live with sin. He couldn't bare failure weighing on weary shoulders.
But there was love. He didn't have to waste life waiting for a chance to just be, he wouldn't live in a memory. And some days, he thought, how was he to go on if he was trapped in darkness? Caged in pitch black with no way to see the door. How, God? Just tell me how. And God had answered him - yes, he was locked in the dark – but he was a light. The Holy Spirit burned as a fire within, and He lit any darkness; he didn't need to search for the door, because he had already walked through it.
The small box-of-a-room was suffocating, the air murky at best. His bare back was pressed against the cold wall, easing the blistering heat he was left to this time. The needle in his neck proved as a reminder, and a spark in the air was another. His own Gift tried to spill into the world and burn him alive. He could still be burned, despite what most thought. If something went wrong, if his concentration slipped… And now, the sharp point beneath his skin mocked him.
He still had a fire that could never go out, never be destroyed, never faltered, nor turned against him. He could see now in the shortest of seconds, longest of minutes, and loneliest of nights – God gave him Fire to show him who he was meant to be, and God had taken it to show Who it truly came from. And he saw. He felt that now. And the flames may have tried to burn his flesh, but his soul was eternally on fire.
God bless!