You cannot step away far enough to take back what others have already recorded, the things that yet surround you.
Pain kept so well hidden that it now plays out comfortably upon your face. Anger once released into the air that still hovers tightly, like smoke dancing in circles right above your head. And laughter that betrays a simple broken heart.
This is your story, every jot and tittle, and one that exposes the subversiveness of a soul still pretending to be ordinary.
But you are uncommon, holy, and profane, as is the earth itself.
And yes, every bit as malleable if left to die without a story.
Image Credit: Pixabay
Return to The Catholic Conspiracy