I am a woman of no distinction. Of little importance, I'm a woman of no reputation to say, which is bad.
You whisper as I pass by and cast judgement until the aspect of actual glances. Though you don't really take the time to look at me, especially not the time to get to know me.
For to be known, is to be loved.
I want someone to look at my face and not just see two eyes, a nose, a mouth and two ears.
But to see all that I am and all that I could be, is to see all my hopes and loves and fears. But that is just too much to hope for, to wish for or pray for, so I don't, not anymore at least.
Now I keep to myself, by that I mean the pain. Pain that keeps me in my own private jail, the pain that has brought me here at midday to this particular hole in the ground.
Where someone asks me for a drink.
A woman unclean, ashamed, used, abused, an outcast, a fair, a disappointment and a sinner.
No drink that passes from my hands to your lips could ever be refreshing, but in reality condemning. As I am sure that is what comes next, the condemning...but you don't.
You are a man of no distinguish to the utmost importance, a man with little reputation so far. You whisper and tell me to my face what everyone was really glancing and talking about.
You take the time to clearly look at me, as if you don't need to know me but you love that you know me.
For to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known.
You actually know me, all of me, everything about me.
Every thought inside my brain, and every hair on my head.
Every hurt stored up, every hope and every dread.
From my past to my future, all I am and all that I could be.
You tell me everything.
You tell me, about me.
You tell me that how others talk in terms of condemnation, hate and ridicule, You talk in love, hope, salvation, grace and mercy.
I have heard of one to come who would save a wretch like me and here you are in my presence saying I am He.
To be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known.
I just met you, but I love you. I don't know you yet, but I want to.
Allow me to run back to those who ridicule and condemn, this is way too much for me.
Here are brothers, sisters, lovers and haters. The good and the bad, sinners and saints who need to hear what you have told me, who should see what you have shown me, who taste what you gave me, who should feel how you forgave me.
For to be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known, and they need this too.
We all do, we need it for our own.
