The Prophet and the Whore I

You never asked for salvation. You didn't want to know if it was possible, for fear that it wasn't. For fear that it was.

You despised him, shackled to his strange mission, free in his pure devotion. You had forfeited that freedom for yourself, and you hated him because he made you want what you couldn't have. He made you want to be the woman you should have been.

So better the indifferent eyes and ungentle hands than the touch that knows you, that has strayed onto your inner wounds but does not recoil, his unmerited love shaming you in your brokenness. You will not have anything you don't deserve.