It beckons me by morning's first light.
The one I dare not enter yet.
Not without you.
Your workshop is a well of creativity, brimming with life that I cannot fathom. With you, even my dull imagination came to life.
Everything your fingers touch, become another masterpiece.
The sun is rising, the door is still ajar, the shadows looming larger than my curiosity.
I can hear your voice whispering in my ear, telling me that is is okay to visit. I haven't dared to drop in, not since I left, anyway.
My feet are willing, for they are taking me there, the rest of me is still standing in the cold winter morn.
Shivering fingers clasp the knob and I am standing inside. The winter air relentlessly pulls at me, warning me to stay away.
I pull every memory tighter, closer to me, wrapping them in the assurance of your love. You created me here, forming every intricate detail that even I do not know of yet.
Your workbench is under the window, right where the sun graces the surface. Wood shavings dust the smooth floor. The scent of you fills the air.
You have just entered. Now everything is perfect.
I hold onto you, a moment extra, drawing my purpose from your morning hug.
Your touch sears straight through me as you lead me to the counter. I sit on the end and watch as you tidy up.
My fingers ache to join you as you carve another masterpiece to life. You turn your face to the light and your eyes close.
From mid-air you begin to mold.
I see something appearing, but cannot make it out as yet. It is soft and pinkish, marbled with little black and red streaks.
You cradle it in the palm of your hand.
A singular thrill runs through me.
Could it possibly be for me?
I can see it clearly now and it looks like a brand-new heart.
You place it in my cupped hands and whisper a blessing over my head. I promise to take good care of my heart as I stare at it in awe.
For a moment, I can see every instance in my life, where the tiny black marble-streaks have come. The more I remember, the bigger they become until your gift has turned black.
Darker than the night, colder than death.
My horror is immeasurable.
How could I ruin something so precious? How can I face you now? You've only just given it to me.
Warmth brushes my cheeks and I raise my tear-filled eyes to your caring ones.
You ask me what is wrong and my voice chokes. I cannot speak. I cannot tell you what has happened.
The coolness of reality is setting in, deeper than before. I do not have the strength to resist anymore.
Your gaze never wavers as you see into the very depths of my soul. From the words I do not have the courage to say, to the dreams I thought I'd hidden from you.
A tinge of warmth spreads through me. You hold out your hand, waiting.
I cannot bear to stare into your kindess.
My fingers close tighter over my marred heart, stubbornly refusing to reliquish my nightmare.
The hand does not move.
Now the tears are falling. I let myself cry. This whole mess must be my fault.
The telltale heart weighs heavier every second. I can't give it to you. Not now. Not after I've ruined it.
My eyes are everywhere but on you. Every tear that falls marks another torturous moment of resistance.
I want to trust you. Almost.
Fear is etching itself across my frozen heart, it is hammering its way into my soul.
Gentle hands lift me from the counter. I find myself in your lap and wrapped in your arms.
My pain ebbs away, becoming yours, my tears splash into jewels that pool at your feet.
"Trust me." Is all you say.
I raise my eyes to yours.
You are smiling.
The first finger loosens.
I give my heart back to you. This time I give you the key as well. The one I buried deep inside and hid behind my soul.
The moment it is in your hands, my heart comes back to life.
I am sorry, Heavenly Father. I did not mean to take my heart back. Thank you for giving me another chance. One moment to give it back.
Sara Harricharan is a young Christian woman with a passion for writing for the Lord through faith-filled Science Fiction/Fantasy stories and pure words. www.fictionfusion.blogspot.com
Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com
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