Submerged in your afflictions brought on by flesh and evil malignant spirits...
you ponder... who loves your soul more?
You doubt that you will ever turn back and somehow ought press on.
But the laceration in your heart says, "no, no more."
Mortals who've inflicted the wounds turn your window panes cold.
The frost drips morsels down into your gut who escorts them fiercely to your soul.
Your carnal and savage will loathes the sight of them.
But your metaphysical God pricks your cheeky conscience back into submission.
You desire to spew your agony back upon those who placed it there, tenfold.
And then you recall the plank in your own eye...
... and how many tears you... you...you, must've brought your God.
...and how many times he embraced you even when your heart was ugly.
...and how many times he loved you when your mouth was depraved.
...and how many times he reached for you even when you had no loyalty for him.
...and how his unconditional love for you drew your heart into remorse, and that personal responsibility and anguish extracted the compassion back out from the depths of your soul.
...and your heart was once again free to adulate your God in complete ecstasy.
And so you were reminded that if you are made in his image you shall also love as he loves.
And you learned that this is how you shall move on.