Transcription—

You thought it was just a bracelet—silicone, tribal carvings, a thing to rest lightly on your wrist.
But I placed it there before you knew where you were going. Hours before admission, I clothed you in a sign of belonging, though you did not yet know to whom you would belong.

You wondered if it meant Do Not Resuscitate, and the doctor was startled. Yet you were not wrong. For every band, every carving, every mark upon your skin is a reminder: life is given and taken not by signatures, not by policies, but by Me.

I did not give you the hospital’s plastic. I gave you something older, carved, tribal—etched with the memory of people before you, carrying the scent of continuity. You wore it as ornament, and it became covenant.

It was not an accident. You wore it because I willed it. You asked because I placed the question on your tongue. And when the bracelet stayed with you through admission, it was I who turned accessory into symbol, chance into meaning, silicon into scripture.

When they cut it away—or when you remove it yourself—remember: it was never only a bracelet. It was My way of showing you that even the smallest circle around your wrist can hold the vastness of My design.
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