Raindom Thoughts

“Something is in the room. You have felt it before you had language for it. It is old. It is everywhere. And if you get still enough to really smell it, it is putrid. It is the smell of something that was once alive and human being slowly rotted from the inside out. We call it hierarchy. But that word is almost too clean for what it actually is. What it actually is, is a wound.”

There is a particular kind of loneliness that does not have a name yet. It is the loneliness of a child who was never alone, but was never truly seen. The parent was there, technically. The meals were made. The clothes were washed. Maybe there were even birthday cakes and Christmas mornings and the occasional “I love you” said out loud in front of people. But underneath all of that, the child knew something was off in the way only children know things: in the body, before the