The river of desire.

Every man carries a river, a current that longs to move, to spill, to flood, to reach the sea of longing. But not every river destroys. Some rise too fast, breaking banks, washing away trust, leaving ruins in their wake. And then there are rivers that know patience. They do not rush to flood they wait for the right season, flowing within their bounds, watering the earth instead of drowning it. Yes, even a good man feels desire. But his gift is restraint, to let his river be a blessing, not a breaking. And Stormie, if your river ever reaches me, I pray it does so gently, like rain on thirsty ground, never to destroy, but only to grow love.