Monday, September 30, 2019

I feel the air in my lungs, the tightness in my belly as I fear the day, the spill as it relaxes with my out breath. Repeatedly giving up my fear, over and over.

Of what am I afraid? The day is a mist, burnt away by the sun. And yet fear gnaws.

Lord, let me breathe out, and yet again.

(Letter #1,724)