The Forest Church — Libre
I feel the way it must, standing in an icy Norwegian forest, limbs quivering despite having taken extra steps to avoid the chill. Moonlight notwithstanding, pitch-black shards of loneliness blind and appall, which I may have gotten used to by now, had it not been for the decades I’ve ignored any of the light passed my way. By strangers or friends. The thickness of the mud in my mind has hardened with age, perverse in a selfish eagerness to exist. This is how I feel on the inside, daily, while dr...