last

it was a wednesday night, slouched dispassionately on the step of blockbuster when i realized i was still broken. with no intention of going inside, i sat there as if naked. painfully and fearfully aware of my own shameful and helpless disposition. of all places to mourn, why there. why in the comfortless drone of a cities night did i find refuge. amid the shadows of parked cars i cried. i hate moments like these. when im exposed. and when i realize, in the most ridiculous places at the most unexpected of times that the process of healing is almost more painful and certainly more difficult than the very experience of raw brokenness itself.