Instead of worshipping a creator or man, I cared fully for myself, and felt no guilt and confessed nothing, and in this place I wrote, I was nourished, and I grew
I have other stories too strange and beautiful to be told
I’ve been floating again. Between dimensions, in the moments between sleep, dream, awake. Each time it happens, I can hold on to it longer – to the limbo where I’m nowhere and nothing – untethered to any place, time, encasement.