Tonight is the last night that I will walk alone. Tonight is the last night I will call this place my home. I have fought many windmills, and chased after the wind; I've clasped my hands around nothing again and again. We're all just bleeding to death from self-inflicted wounds; we're all obtaining careers to provide our dooms. Blindfolded and naive, lay our treasures in our fireplaces, place our children on the train tracks, and pull the wool over their faces. I have made some twine with selfish ambition and thread, and sewed up my cuts before I'd be dead. I tied knots with faith in the world and myself, living for pleasure, and toiling for wealth. I played outside for years with a butterfly net, chasing the wind everyday before the sun set. Then I cried into my pillow and clenched my fists, and looked for new things to sew up my wrists. Ignoring the voice that whispered "goodnight sweetheart . . ." I refuse to admit the stitches are comming apart.

The years went by and I am alone, everything has turned to dust that I called my own. I can't find something worth anything as far as I can see, the jars for the wind I've been chasing are empty. Nothing in this world has lasted or put hope in my heart. The stitches have unraveled and are coming apart.

Just beneith my wrists I watched this scarlet puddle grow, I can't find anything more that I can use to sew. At the end of my rope is a dangling noose, I have tied while living for nothing, and found nothing of any use. I'm tired of fighting windmills and I'm tired of chasing the wind. I will not open my hands to find nothing ever again.

Then His voice whispered to me before I closed my eyes, "I have already given you my life, so why is it that you choose to die?" Then I saw him standing over me, I covered my wrists, afraid that he would see. I couldn't look in his eyes and I felt so ashamed. I tried to hide all the blood colored stains. And my voice was shaking as I started to cry, I could feel that soon I was going to die. "I have nothing to fill all the holes in my heart . . . the stitches have unraveled and are coming apart. I have chased after wind for a very long time, still I have nothing worth saying is mine. Everything I did was for nothing and now I'm bleeding to death, and when I'll be dead I will still not have rest." As the blood ran down like the tears in my eyes, the only thing I have heard that has freedom from lies, spilled over his lips and on to me, pale and broken. Of all the words I have heard to be spoken, all of the sorrow, and all the regret, the years, the toil, the butterfly nets, this wasted life and all of this . . . this never ending emptiness . . . washed away below my arms in the blood that poured down, the thread and the stitches fell to the ground. His words blanketed me as my pain reached its end, " I've loved you forever, and my love never ends."
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Lord Jesus, I don't deserve you. I'm sometimes unsure weither I'm a sheep or a goat. Give me confidence and strength. I will wait for you to come to me. Humble my heart and raise me up from this dead place again. I will wait for you to come. Teach me to speak to you. I will wait until you come.