Obsidian and Finding the Truth Beneath the Surface
When we dress up, when we experiment, sometimes it’s because we are trying to discover who we are. But sometimes it’s because we already know and have nothing to hide.
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It’s easier to cut people out than to learn to differentiate between the chronically demanding and the occasionally needy. It’s war, we tell ourselves.
If citrine is supposed to bring you abundance, what might it bring if you didn’t need so much wealth in our capitalist hellscape?
I’ve been wondering what my edges really are, and finding they don’t exist. I feel myself shimmer with every conflicting thought.
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Montrose was unofficially codified as the nexus of queer life in Houston. If you held a map to the wall, I could tell you how we came to be on those streets.
How do I raise a child to love a world that may be dying, to live with compassion in the midst of what could very well be despair?