Morning Song.

Praise the Lord, O my soul:
all my inmost being, praise his holy name. 
Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits- 
who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.


Psalm 103

Terrible Tuesdays.

(via Jewel of the South)

Vignette

The first September of this year was overcast and thickly warm. I'd spent the morning smoking cigarettes in the bath and feeling alternately morose, then manic. With the window wide, I dangled one hand over the brownstone ledge and wondered if ash was landing on anyone's head six floors down. The water and air and the steam and the smoke were all the same temperature and I sat sweating discontentedly, bitterly eyeballing the tendrils of black hair that stuck to the sides of the shower. They couldn't be mine and I blamed my roommate for having hair, and for being careless enough about it to let it fall out.

An 11 September Song.

Raining in the City

What has happened to all your joy?

I can testify that, if you could have done so, you would have torn out your eyes and given them to me. Have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth?

-St. Paul

Me Too.

I'm Lonely Too.

via The Sartorialist