something something
liminal spaces, places, and learning how to deal with grief differently
something something
“dealing with” is the wrong frame
something something
the depth of your grief is the depth of your love
something something
your capacity to feel grief is your capacity to feel love
something something
over and over and over again
your breathe inhabits you like a foreign obligation, pooling stiff reservoirs of borrowed air. anticipating preciousness, only endured. ridiculous abundance of miracle~ rendered invisible. wonder what ancient forgetting persuaded a deity to mistake itself for a prisoner
perhaps we are greedy. is having more desires than can be contained, greedy? or has the box been made so small that everything feels extreme?
[sand series v]