Anyone Else Finding The Torment Relentless

anyone else finding the torment relentless

I am, as the novelists say, in need of seaside air

‘god knows all of your ugliness,’ my mother says, ‘and loves you despite.’

‘is that supposed to make me feel loved?’ i reply. ‘i am still ugly. he is still god.’

autumn is really like. i brought you some sunlight from when you were 10. didn't the world feel so bright to you then? i'll drench your hands in syrupy nostalgia, so everything you make is stained bittersweet. i'll ruffle your hair with an ice-kissed breeze--it'll be the kindest touch you've had in years. you finally feel like a part of something grander. i'm the last warm hand you hold before winter surrender.

Yves Olade, When Rome Falls

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