a lot of life right now feels like praying at altars to deaf ears. He is there, but he is silent. Surely faith is the strongest form of delusion- but often you're granted some form solace, some answer to the begging. Selfishly, I think I should be heard and answered. Selfishly, I think this has been enough repenting. Enough near-death to prevent me from fucking up again. If only he gave me grace, another chance to treat what is holy, holy.



















