if you could see the rot and smell the stench of your old self that you tote around like some vintage family heirloom, well, you would gag and vomit and scream; the sin-self isn’t pretty and it is empty of value, let it go, toss it into the light that it may shriek and die and be left there, never touched again.
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AuthorI write to process. I write to explore. I write with the hope of sharing truth greater than my own. Archives
February 2022
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