Work Text:
Everything is holy
In the mind of a sinner, every time you think of her, it immediately ruins any and all logic that you once held so much pride in; your genius is forever indebted to her. Everything is holy.
In the eyes of a sinner, looking upon her is a relief to the senses that you posses; you couldn’t ignore her presence even if you wanted to, she simply won’t let you. Everything is holy.
When a sinner speaks, it is with a hiss you cannot control, yet you speak in angry taunts when blinded by possessive rage and crippling insecurity, you do not mean the things you say; and even though she is hurt, she forgives you, and it is another day you have not killed her kindness. Everything is holy.
In the past of a sinner, it is ruins, you are destroyed, something incomprehensible had happened to you time and time again, yet here you are, alive and kicking, despite all odds; she seems to want you here, and so you make it your life’s mission to share your future with her. Everything is holy.
In the touch of a sinner, everything is rotten, except when you are creating music from the instrument that is your very self, or it is when you are touching her, and she is pleading for your touch-- you know how to play them both like a piano, after all, and it is something that she has come to appreciate. Everything is holy.
When a sinner loves, it isn’t a common occurrence, it is only until you force it with the craftsmanship of your own bloodied hands that you have once called divine intervention, yet it is with the same hands that have killed, hands that are scarred and damaged-- she doesn’t seem to mind; she will hold you anyways, will love you with the strength of a thousand suns, which is a mercy you never thought you deserved. Everything is holy.
Everything is holy.