I never found much comfort in overly organized religion of any sort.
My hands are small, but they're not yours, they are my own... I am never broken.
I say to myself, sometimes the tide is just out. But it always comes back in again.
I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead.
So what are we given? We're also given, my generation, the disillusionment of our parents.
I find you get out of people what you put into them.