Serva Me, Servabote: Save me and I'll save you
They shared the same
tattoo. It said the same thing, translated into the same phrase..."Serva
me, Servabote": Save Me and I'll Save You. She believed it with all her
heart; she had saved him. He could have gone down a different path, the path of
destruction and trouble, a path too many of his friends were heading down. But
she had done it: tamed the wild animal, made him love her. Still, you can take
a lion out of the jungle, but you can never take the jungle out of the lion. He
was in need of some salvation.
He was going to move in with her, pick up his life in Jersey and head down to Florida, where she had moved to escape the madness of her cluttered mind. She needed a permanent vacation, shocked by how much his disease had consumed her, but she wanted him to move down with her anyway. Yet like all wild animals, they use instinct. His moves were predictable. I had seen him go through two of my other good friends, ripping their hearts out with his jagged teeth, his sharp claws. He was in need of some salvation.
The next step in his predictable line of action: draw back. He is afraid. He has always been afraid. Lies, manipulation, mind games...the usual batch of toxic words and recycled phrases and actions. His claws sank deeper into her flesh. Hundreds of miles away, she cried out in anguish. Her hurt stretched the distance, but fell short of meeting him. He had pushed her farther away than she actually was. He was scared and she had believed in him, having faith, trust, hope in him. Hope that maybe if she could save him, he could save her. He was in need of some salvation. She was in need of some salvation.
She said, "I have a tattoo on me that doesn't mean anything. Because I never saved him." Serva me, Servabote. Save me and I'll save you. Bruised and battered from the wild lion, her last drops of hope in something, someone were drying up. She was in need of some salvation.
I told her, "Maybe it does mean something still. That as much as you try to save another person, the truth is you can only save yourself." We're all in need of some salvation.
He was going to move in with her, pick up his life in Jersey and head down to Florida, where she had moved to escape the madness of her cluttered mind. She needed a permanent vacation, shocked by how much his disease had consumed her, but she wanted him to move down with her anyway. Yet like all wild animals, they use instinct. His moves were predictable. I had seen him go through two of my other good friends, ripping their hearts out with his jagged teeth, his sharp claws. He was in need of some salvation.
The next step in his predictable line of action: draw back. He is afraid. He has always been afraid. Lies, manipulation, mind games...the usual batch of toxic words and recycled phrases and actions. His claws sank deeper into her flesh. Hundreds of miles away, she cried out in anguish. Her hurt stretched the distance, but fell short of meeting him. He had pushed her farther away than she actually was. He was scared and she had believed in him, having faith, trust, hope in him. Hope that maybe if she could save him, he could save her. He was in need of some salvation. She was in need of some salvation.
She said, "I have a tattoo on me that doesn't mean anything. Because I never saved him." Serva me, Servabote. Save me and I'll save you. Bruised and battered from the wild lion, her last drops of hope in something, someone were drying up. She was in need of some salvation.
I told her, "Maybe it does mean something still. That as much as you try to save another person, the truth is you can only save yourself." We're all in need of some salvation.
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