These days, the light by which I write takes a little longer to arrive, while grief’s grammar comes a little too quickly. Sometimes, stone hands tattoo words like ash, entropy, and wreckage upon my tongue. Other times, my thoughts glow pure and saintly, like they’re packing hope chests and halos. Forgive me if I am not explaining myself correctly. What I am trying to say is pretty words can sometimes conceal deep hurts. What I am trying to say is sometimes it is better to let your wounds do the writing.