i am too busy serving tables to hear God right now

or solve the Big Puzzles

i move through the world with gentle hands, soft eyes. a heart that’s been patched up over five hundred times. hand-sewn and mended and whole. i do the dishes and think about the people i have lost. the ones i’ve gained, too. how nothing is forever or promised, though it always feels like a guarantee.

the universe has a way of reminding me of her temporary nature anytime i cling too hard, dig my nails into someone. the cosmos whisper to me at night, telling me they are pure chaos energy and random. but there are secrets to it if you trace the lines.