As a child, my mother told me not to talk to strangers. I did my best to obey. She hadn’t realized that everyone is a stranger to the part of us that makes us who we truly are. The part of us that prays for the rest in ways we cannot comprehend. In a sense, we are our own monsters, lying in wait under our own beds--our own angels and demons.
The lives we lead will judge us. This is as natural as the sun rising and setting, something that happens whether or not we’re alive.

Christopher Hawke

Mots clés judgement mother demons-prayers mothers-monsters

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