The dance of ink over finely woven plant fibers became an act of worship, a connection to the Creator of language himself, especially when the words of a new song spilled from my heart onto a sheet of papyrus.

Every step away from Kedesh felt like fighting against a rushing river. I could practically feel my home calling, beckoning me to return.

She was a meek servant during the day, all subservient and silent feet, and a stern-faced warrior facing off with me and stealing my bed at night.

I'd noticed her brown eyes before now, but in the direct sunlight they reminded me of pools of rich date honey, sweet and warm. And I knew if I sank into them I'd never be free of their pull.

The consequences of our foolish decisions are always made clearer when we look backward on the path we've traveled.