All I ever write are secrets.
That in itself is the only secret I have
about writing, but
I still don’t know
if that’s the secret to writing beautifully,
to writing a thought, an emotion, so tangibly
that someone could taste it through his eyelashes and say
The more I find myself in heart wrenching situations, it is more difficult for me to turn for help in my faith. Even if I do believe in a greater being, emotions would make conscience cower, causing anger towards my own belief. Of course the religion has done nothing wrong towards me – so why do I feel such hatred?