Photo by Brennen Bariso / North by Northwestern

let me tell you a story: when i was growing up, god was a complex ray of light passing through stained glass without any refraction. i never understood the purpose of suffering until i found light i couldn’t hold.

let me tell you a story: at the end of october there wasn’t any more room in the boat; everyone had to make a choice, i made mine.

let me tell you story: there will be times when you are owed an apology and the earth isn't going to give you one. instead, you'll get a fissure in the ground that swallows you whole and you'll have to learn how to find warmth in the primal way that all living things do.

let me tell you a story: he asked me to come back so i came back, open like a flowering wound, head swirling like a pillar of pink smoke.

let me tell you a story: the day after lightning struck the tree in the backyard, i picked up the splintered branches and dug the rot out of the ground with my bare hands. there was nothing else i could do.

you shake your head and say you don’t understand why i’m telling you these stories. of course you don’t understand, what would you know about sacrifice?