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  • We're always waiting for a sign.

    That this is right-- or wrong. That things will get better. That I should wait. That this is a waste of time.
    That this is love. That it… isn’t. That I was meant to do this work. That this will be a good day.
    Reading the world as if it were assembled to give us clues. As if sunshine and the course of our day were bound together-- as if there were some storyteller threading our lives with narrative. I want to believe this. I want some hints, some order.

    But sometimes, the light hits the building across the street just right.
    And it doesn't matter what it means.
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