Ahhh welcome! Welcome to the end of Velvet Hour. Please don't look away. You invited me in the moment you clicked this page. "Invited who?" you ask. You've been calling to me your entire life. Those quiet moments. The angry ones too. The ones where you stared at that door, knowing damn well that the consequence lay on the other side, and opened it anyway.
Let me get a good look at you. Ah… yes. I remember that face. I wore you often. It suits you, ya know. I'm glad you took it back.
I've been painted evil from a hypocrites brush. You think I offer bargains. I don't. I offer reflections that people hate to look at too long.
I am the silence before the gunshot that invaded a Kennedy's thoughts. I was the applause when they chose a criminal over Jesus. I am the doubt in the surgeon's hand that had too much coffee.
Want to know how I play? Choice.
I don't tell you, "get rid of them." I say: "Aren't you tired of being wronged all the time?" I don't whisper "burn them the way that they burned you." I say: "Haven't they taken enough from you?" I don't shout, "betray them with the same heart they betrayed you with." I say: "You deserve better." Free will tastes better when it's dressed like justice. And so you choose. Over and over again.
And I never have to force your hand. No, my silly. I simply offer… a nudge. Just remember the next time you try to see how long you can stare at your reflection… remember to say:
"I made this choice."
And you did. But I was there. I watched your hands hover over the delete key after writing something cruel. I remember the hesitation you had before pressing send anyway. I listened to you say a lie because the other person believed you to be honest.
You never needed me to commit sin. You just needed someone to blame for enjoying it. So you chose the obvious answer. Then you have the nerve to go to church for forgiveness with every intention of repeating your sins.
You…you pray only when it benefits you. You were always consistently inconsistent.
Look…look at you. Eyes wide. Lips parted. You're wondering if this is fiction or a confession. Do you feel the toll of it yet? The guilt of everything YOU did wrong and blamed on me? Don't worry. I'm not here to take anything from you. You gave it all away ages ago.
I just like watching the moment you realize. When your pulse picks up. When you stop reading this as a story and start wondering if I'm actually behind you.
Go on.
Check.
…
Still with me? Good. You probably thought you did enough to reverse all the bad things you've done. No, no, no. I am every unfinished thought. I am that weird taste in your mouth after you say something unforgivable. And I'm always, always pleased to see you. Tell me:
What's my name?
Say it.
No?
Then say yours.
It's the same thing.
Go pray. Don't worry. We'll meet again. Just don't forget your manners. A little sympathy goes a long way.
Now go on.
Close this chapter.
See how long you can go before you hear me whisper:
"Pleased to see you."