Sometimes I wish my love was different. Way different.
It’s entirely likely I’ll never (no, not ever) hear His audible voice, nor see His flesh.
Let alone know His touch. I can’t weep on His broad shoulder, or squeeze Him in a joyful embrace. Or share a thousand other things I’m yearning to.
I can’t even Skype Him in when I really need Him (And I really need Him. A lot).
Reading His texts is as close as it gets. His words are so real, an intense ecstasy. They read my heart, they make me more alive!
Every thought I have intersects with thoughts of Him. He is at the centre of it all. At work, at rest, at play – everything revolves around Him.
There’s nothing anyone could say to make me love Him less. Nothing anyone could do to make me love Him more.
Some of my closest family and friends are uncomfortable even at the mention of His name. They never ask me about Him.
And yet I love Him.
Always have. Always will. I love Him still.
I love him 24/7 (Is there any other kind of love? Yet still sometimes I wish it was different).