A hot, fiery service on a cool February night. Nestled in between stores, in a small storefront church, I could feel my hands nervously grip a stranger's sleeves (the pastor's). I felt the cool hands of the usher as she unclutched my nervous grip that ruffled the pastor's sleeves.
A pastor, built, tall, handsome, single, with money.
They say Valentine's Day is supposed to be the love day, love month. But how could I have known what walking through those doors that night would cost me?
The light, the veil, and the sword.
A sea of dreams.
The prophecy.