Freely oppressed under winding mythos. Not yet filled with the stuff of weeping. Complicit in the sin of numbness. Paths of growth. I am refining my handling of immensity. But still, I am not a creature of surety. Or boldness. I am a creature of questions. An immensity of questions, and questions have their own immensities. I am learning to sit under them. To demand of them answers is to forsake the joy of knowing gently, at the pace of immensity.
Absolutely gutting-ly beautiful as usual