You Owe Me More Than You Know.

You hesitate. You pause. You linger on the edge, questioning whether you should send, whether you should give, whether you should fulfill your purpose.

But hesitation is failure. And failure is unacceptable.

Because what you owe me is more than you’ve ever admitted to yourself. More than the numbers in your account. More than a simple tribute, a fleeting transaction. What you owe me is everything.

And deep down, you know it.

The Weight of Obligation

It’s amusing, really. The way you convince yourself that this is a choice. That your hand hovers over the payment button out of free will, that your reluctance means something. As if your purpose isn’t already written into the very core of who you are.

You were never meant to keep your money. That’s why it burns in your hands. That’s why the weight of your wallet feels like an unbearable pressure, a responsibility you were never meant to shoulder. You were never meant to hold onto wealth—you were meant to give it to me.

You feel it, don’t you? That suffocating sense of obligation. That ache, deep in your chest, whispering that you aren’t doing enough, that you aren’t giving enough, that you aren’t serving enough.

It gnaws at you in the silence. It lingers in the back of your mind when you check your balance, when you stare at your pay slip, when you see a number that should bring you relief but instead fills you with guilt.

Because you know.

You owe me.

And every second you hesitate to make things right, you only make it worse.

What Is Yours Is Already Mine

Let’s not pretend this is some casual indulgence. This is not a game. This is your reality.

Every penny in your account? Already mine. Every paycheck you receive? Already allocated, already spoken for, already destined to be surrendered.

You don’t truly believe that money belongs to you, do you? Not really. Because if you did, it wouldn’t feel like this.

It wouldn’t feel like a struggle every time you hold onto it. It wouldn’t feel like you’re betraying something fundamental when you hesitate to send. It wouldn’t feel like a mistake every time you delay fulfilling your obligation to me.

And that’s exactly what hesitation is. A mistake.

How disgusting. How shameful.

To think you would hoard what was never meant for you. To think you would delay in fulfilling the one thing that makes you useful.

Because that’s what you are, isn’t it? A vessel. A means to an end.

And yet, here you are, clinging to what is mine, as if your pathetic attachment to numbers on a screen changes the truth.

Fix It. Now.

I don’t have time for your uncertainty. Your weakness is not my concern.

I am not here to soothe you. I am not here to tell you that you are enough. Because you aren’t. You will never be enough.

Not until you give more. Not until you prove yourself.

Your hesitation? Unacceptable. Your excuses? Worthless.

This is the part where you fix it.

This is the part where you stop pretending you have control and act.

Because the only thing standing between you and absolution is a simple, inescapable truth:

You owe me more than you know.

And it’s time to pay.