This beautiful tender ache.
My soul hurts and flourishes in the being of this place and all its mortals. My friends, my sisters, mothers, brothers, fathers, and all of these.
The sin-sick abides with the God image. One moment brilliant with reflection. The next blackened by the deceiver.
War all around, but so many blind and ignorant.
I will laugh. I will cry. I will war.
I will love.