(Verse 1) It is not what you are missing. It is the wanting you were taught to quiet. It lives in the body. In the belly’s turning. In the chest that tightens before it opens. In the throat where breath hesitates at the edge of honesty. You felt it rise and named it excess. Too much. Too alive. So you softened it. Made it wrong. (Pre-Chorus) You were told holiness is smaller. Less hunger. Less heat. Less sound. So you practiced reduction. You called it wisdom. You dimmed the flame and called it peace. (Chorus) Desire belongs here. In the human heart. Not as flaw as movement. The first stirring of love inside matter. Longing is not exile. It is the path curling back to itself. (Verse 2) Desire was never separate from spirit. It is how spirit leans into form. How consciousness enters breath. You tasted distance so closeness could be known. You stepped into forgetting so remembering could arrive in the body. This ache you tried to transcend it was sacred sensation asking to be included. (Pre-Chorus 2) You learned to mistrust the pull. Learned to rise above it. But the rising was another way of leaving. (Chorus) Desire belongs here. In the pulse. In the trembling reach. It is how the many return to One. Nothing impure about the wave moving toward the shore. The wave was always ocean. (Verse 3) You wrote a quiet rule: I must not want too much. You lived inside that sentence until it felt like truth. Not because you lacked authority but because you were using it to measure your worth. The human was never a mistake. It is holy because it feels. Because it breaks. Because it longs. (Bridge) You have authority to name yourself. To choose the meaning of the fire in your chest. Nothing is being withheld. Nothing is punishing you. You are witnessing your own authorship. And the page is not closed. You are free. Free to revise. Let love be your guide. Desire, unhidden. Breathing without apology. The spark allowed to become flame. The flame allowed to become devotion. Devotion no longer reaching just moving. Magnetized by love. Moving through the hands. Through the voice. Through the ordinary holiness of being here. Longing was never wrong. It was love learning texture. You are not divided. The body is not against the light. The wanting was the current. It carried you all along. Longing was love returning to itself wave becoming ocean, spark becoming flame. And the flame, once allowed, burned with such clarity that only love remained.

Authorship 2