Sometimes you lose your footing in the world, find yourself spiraling down and around, grasping at bits of air, pointlessly spinning, lost in nothingness.
Sometimes, the enormity of mortality weighs you down, hard splintered wood against your back, crushing the heart. How are some truths possible?
Which is worse, the directionless spin of the void, or the terror of the solid cross?
God says choose the cross, but you cry not now, not me, not ever. Please
And then God says, I’ll carry it with you. One step. Then another.