There are days I wish I could go back. Back when everything felt comfortable and familiar, when it all seemed to fit. When God seemed to fit.
A bunch of little boxes I built, everything I knew contained inside.
The boxes are broken now, but I still find myself picking up the pieces during flashes of panic or desperation or longing. I sit on the floor and try to put them back together, and they just fall apart.
My reality now is open and wild. The blacks and whites have become rainbows of color.
It’s not familiar and it’s not comfortable, but it’s real.