You are not the pages of a book, though you breathed them. If you were, upon closing, we would no longer experience you. You are a never-ending poem, the graceful break of a reckless wave. You are a perfection that loves--a perfection that we don't have to tire ourselves striving for.  You tell us to be still, knowing that you are God.  Your love is three dimensional but it only requires one to accept it.  And yet, it confounds us because You are simple goodness and we are the product of overthinking.