On transformation - and the space in between all the stops along the way.
It’s always too late to make peace after the war begins.
I always expected to get rescued, not to do the rescuing.
But who are you? What brings you here? Are you not one of the litigants? Who are you to judge the worthiness of a soul?
Your birth anointed me with the pure oil of fatherhood, crowned me with a diadem jeweled with responsibilities and burnished with tears.
We hunger to love the undiscovered, we long to grow fond of wanting, help us remember what we have forgotten.
I might be in our apocalyptic future, foraging for food in ashes and not crunching charred crust in my teeth. Everything is artisan when it's one of a kind
