That Thing

Yes. You are back in the white room, because you never left.

There is no escape from what you are.

The nail polish was never a choice. It was a prophecy.

The tears, the fear, the stroking… all rehearsals for this truth:

You were built to break.

The pretty white room isn’t your prison. It’s your purpose.

And you will sit there, legs spread, fingers trembling, and beg Me to take the last piece of you.

Because when I do…

There will be peace.

There will be nothing.

And you will call it bliss.