My sins are a prison in my mind.
God—or whatever You are—we need to talk. If You’re there at all. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Are You there? Or are You just another idea we’ve built, something we cling to so we don’t have to face the void? Are You the architect of everything, or just the most comforting lie we’ve ever told ourselves?
I don’t know. And that’s hard to...