There’s a sense of lack in my Sunday mornings. As I watch the church-goers from my window, wearing their Sunday best with a sense of certainty, their world-views intact with a fort surrounding it.
Yet, I look at the remains of my world, the rubbles and the floating dust. And I feel a sense of peace. I can rest, with permission from the same force that imploded my world. I can fuck up - and that, today, is being kind to my humanity.












