This morning I wake from struggle. Up struggles the sun from a wounded night [mh]. I'm a sinner. I have come to terms with that. What I don't want to do is fall into a self destructive pattern. I want to rise above. I do not want to live like I am an island. Prisoners of the small worlds that orbit in our skulls [mh].
I am still isolated. I am still trying to make sense of things. I am unsure where my old Bible is. It is the one I have from a lifetime ago. I have not been reading. I am still dangerously close to the edge right now, looking over a precipice at my former life. Every once in a while, it beckons me closer. I feel cold.
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