but last night i sunk into the bath and reversed, for a moment, my thought flow. or rather, my thought rush.
maybe it's the questions. the asking. the holding your head up to the sky and sending a request up to God. the rising early and gathering the blankets around your feet, brewing that first cup of coffee just to get your head right. the attempt -- goodness knows-- the blessed, sacred attempt. the days you wake up and think today will not be like yesterday and by mid morning you realize, oh actually, today is just like yesterday. but you push forward until nightfall anyway. for the fringe of hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be different. better. brighter. warmer.
and you keep searching and asking and yelling and rebelling.
praying and questioning and researching and reading.
and one day you understand you must be good enough to yourself to know when to stop. when to realize it's not the answer you need. not the new day or the different night. but just to lie in bed and hold you arms against your chest and breathe in the cotton and remind yourself that it's okay not to know. not now, not in a little while, maybe not ever. there's a reason for the gray. a season for the fog.