The long silences need to be loved, perhaps more than the words which arrive to describe them in time.
Its hard for me to grasp that I might somehow be my fathers equal in any way.
We are created by being destroyed.
Should each individual snowflake be held accountable for the avalanche?
The humiliation I go through/when I think of my past/can only be described as grace./We are created by being destroyed.
This is no occupation for an adult who can look other adults in the eye, carry his own weight, and count himself one of them.