every, single one of us has a hidden story.

we are soft mammals, shaped in the light, as well as in the dark, fear has left its furrowed tracks all over our bones, but so has the light.

we are not all formed in the same way, but we all have small sacred wells all over our inner landscape—they don’t belong to anybody, they are the hidden places where God dwells.

we are made of so much more than our eyes can see.

do not forget this.

people will come and they will tell you who your enemy is—who you must fear, and what they really mean is this—these are the other soft bodies that we need you to hate.

pay attention to this.

perhaps it would be better if we rather listened for the song inside our own mouth—the one we forget the words to when we forget our own backstory, the one we won’t allow others to sing when we forget that they too, are only gossamer fabric stitched together in ways that are called, mystery, and all-the-days-you-do-not-know.

perhaps it would be better if we called each other by a name that tastes like grace, like kindness, like how-i-want-my-name-to-fall-gently-out-of-your-mouth.

let me give you this.

the dark threads that hold me together on the other side of my being, look the same as yours.

this is a true and beautiful thing.

{📷 what i want you to see, and what you cannot see unless i show you}