Bought by the blood, kept by the power, art an adoration and yet- I worship self and I make a terrible god. Why is it so hard to be obedient, remain in the state in which called? Wise in my own eyes, I fall, and then by precious grace, the fight is won; adorned again in words not my own, pruned to bloom, I count it joy to lose that I may serve the work.
you’d better believe that you’re a heroine
17 hours ago