Maybe I can start writing again??
I sit in a chair in the dusted silence and watched how the sun casts a warm pale light in the room and I get on my knees like I did as a kid--though it hurts to do it now--and I talk to my God, telling him all the things I did wrong and I tell him how I did it, and I tell him that my pants don’t feel right, and how I miss my sister. I cry. I blubber. I speak in tongues.