I am going through it. It’s going through me. It’s breaking hope and bones as it passes. Taking the last of me. I cry more than I speak these days. The devil has been fighting for my light since I could remember. Daddy would pick up the bottle and I’d see him real clear. Smiling at my pain and whispering in my ear. In my little room full of fear wishing God would appear.  Some days he’d come disguised as my mother but most days I just moved to his rhythm. Angels would ask to cut in here and there but we could never quite figure out our rhythm. I’m too much light to belong with the devil but not enough light to go without dimming heaven.