The land flooded, the sky was dark and wet. I had reached the bottom of my jar and there was no glory. It was all drained away and swallowed up by careless mouths.
A pool had formed in the flooded land and in it sat two boys; young like adolescences yet humble and mature with knowledge.
I felt like I should know them, but their faces were masked by their black hoodies. And their voices matched everyone's and they matched no one's.
One beckoned me to swim to them. They were familiar in a welcoming stranger way. So I submerged into the comforting warm water, and I slowly swam next to the boy.
The one who beckoned asked me, "What is your story?" and just as easily as unzipping a jacket, I spilled out my worries he soaked up my loneliness and aches, and I found myself curled up in his arms.
He took my empty jar and filled it with a glowing light. The land surrounding was still cold and dark but the light inside was the one thing that brought me warmth and renewal and undying hope and joy.
He was the holy man. Who welcomes everyone and forgives everyone. He is equal. He is greater. He is the one who sat in the flooded land and waited for me so that he could give me a wholesome warmth that I've never felt until now.