THE RED SHOE
The sun came out today. But I still ache all over. It made me think of Waclaw Gralewski’s theory: every tumble, bruise, broken leg or arm is the price for disrupting some hidden order. Instant punishment.
No home anymore. Nowhere to return. My house is a ruin, a cemetery. You may yearn for the grave, but just try living there.
I received the grace of shadows. The grace of remaining in the dark.