But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.
But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.
In the days that bleed into months following loss, it can be hard to move forward. Why do we linger and hold onto things that are hurting us? And what does it do to us?
