Not-titled

That pit in the stomach says that despite everything, I still respond to the voice that says that I'm nothing but the sum of my accomplishments. Value to be determined on every hour of every day by reference to the direction of my possession arrow. That cross-hung God is a consolation prize and nothing more. He's just a contingency plan when the unthinkable has happened, and an afterthought or (worse) a charm bracelet when favor smiles.