Don’t ask me to make you a god. Don’t ask me to treat you like a god. You’re not a god. Show me your imperfections, your dark pieces, your grit and grime and dirtiness. Show me who you are when you’re not keeping it together for the rest of the world. And let me love you anyway. Let me revel in your pleasure anyway. Let me serve you anyway. And then – and then – I will worship you for it.
Give me this and I will fall at your feet and beg to be used.
Give me this and I will make you a god.
I’ll make you my god.
And I will revel every day – every moment – in being granted the deep, unyielding pleasure of being permitted to please you.
Don’t ask me to make you a god. Oh no. Let me do it on my own.