Acting piously without being pious is the darkest hypocrisy, underlying our resentment of others, and our own self-loathing.
…I can picture you getting on the floor, eye level with them as toddlers…
I wondered if the fixed smile–as I perceived it–wasn’t also a wince from hurt carried constantly conscious. Inescapable.
It’s the kind of fortitude and okayness that come only from soaking up the outpouring from a ripped open heart.
Love is a mess of romance and compassion. Compassion can remain.
Therapeutic tunnels promising greener grass succeed when they dump us back on the brown patch where we began.