Part II. And still still you left this desire in me like a jewel hidden in a wound. Why? Why give me a love that feels like both blessing and blasphemy, both salvation and self‑destruction? Why make me a man who can kiss another man and feel the universe rearrange itself into something unbearably honest, yet still look in the mirror and flinch? God, I know you love me. I know this because you made me too carefully for it to be an accident. You carved this longing into me with the precision of a sculptor who refuses to apologize for beauty. So why why do I hate myself for it with such theatrical devotion? Why does the holiness you gave me feel like a sin when I hold it in my own hands? I am tired of praying for a different version of myself. I am tired of bargaining with a God who already said yes the moment He made me.