I am filled with hate. Love does not live inside me. I am a hard, calloused thing. Hate forms my thoughts, my defences.
I don’t know God, because I don’t love at all. I am emptied of love. Love doesn’t know me as home. Jesus it’s dark. It’s crowded. It’s lonely. It’s prideful, it’s careless, it’s selfish.
I sit between the back of the couch and the window, feet pressed down into wood, peering at flowers behind the glass. They’re closed, their petals are torn, colours fading. They were open yesterday.
Hatred is at home inside me. It’s comfortable. I didn’t even know it was here until just before, but now it makes sense as I remember the edginess, the restlessness, that shoot bullets at my heart and take pointed words and throw them at other hearts.
It is me. The battle is between light and dark, good and evil, hatred and love. I am fighting for dark. We fight for whatever lives inside us.
It’s true that light breaks darkness. But how do you love when you are filled with hate?