“The seed of our destruction will blossom in the desert, the alexin of our cure grows by a mountain rock, and our lives are haunted by a Georgia slattern because a London cut-purse went unhung. Through Chance, we are each a ghost to all the others, and our only reality; through Chance, the huge hinge of the world, and a grain of dust; the stone that starts an avalanche, the pebble whose concentric circles widen across the seas.” (Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel)
This is How You Will Heal the Wound
This little essay came to me more as a dream or a prayer, and people seem to like it, so I thought I’d share it
