That line reframes everything before it — the darting eyes, the aunt bowing, the question about the gun. It's not fear of violence. It's the geometry of survival: who sees the exit first.
The Galway church detour looks like digression. It isn't. Same question, different building: where are the rules, who holds them, and what happens if you get the sequence wrong.
"Divinity is a second language" — you almost let that go too quietly.
What made you put the crackers and the birds at the end, after everything else?
There is a soft disturbance in this piece— like a bee making its way through a crowd, breaking concentration as it gathers the dust of thought. Still, it holds a single truth.
Same. I think part of my internal friction is trying to rush to name it. One of the hardest lessons I’m learning is allowing things to be. Not every particle needs to be examined.
This was heartbreaking. I understand the feelings in this all too well. You’re amazing.
So are you 🫂💫 Thanks for reading :)
I love how you open ended it. It felt like there should be another paragraph or two, but it never really finishes, does it?
These thoughts seem so important and still they're just a drop in the storm we tend to go through.
It would be impossible for me to survive without faith. I'm glad you have one.
"He's got first glimpse of the door."
That line reframes everything before it — the darting eyes, the aunt bowing, the question about the gun. It's not fear of violence. It's the geometry of survival: who sees the exit first.
The Galway church detour looks like digression. It isn't. Same question, different building: where are the rules, who holds them, and what happens if you get the sequence wrong.
"Divinity is a second language" — you almost let that go too quietly.
What made you put the crackers and the birds at the end, after everything else?
I think I did let go of divinity as a second language too quickly.
I put the crackers and the bird at the end because that was the order of my thoughts as I wrote it.
In timely pieces, I could tell you more about where I struggled, but what I can say about this relatively hasty piece is that I struggle to read it.
It's not that I don't like it. It's that I don't know where I wanted it to go.
Thank you for reading and offering your careful analysis. Always a pleasure.
There is a soft disturbance in this piece— like a bee making its way through a crowd, breaking concentration as it gathers the dust of thought. Still, it holds a single truth.
I’m not sure what it is…but I feel it.
Same. I think part of my internal friction is trying to rush to name it. One of the hardest lessons I’m learning is allowing things to be. Not every particle needs to be examined.
What? Say it isn’t so! 😏
Beautiful piece. This line in particular got me “The bullet may have its own impulse, but I do wonder about choice.”
This was beautiful and heartbreaking.
Thank you ❤️🫂
This is such a great piece. You say so much in with so little. Contained and compelling.
Thanks, Maria. I know I’ve got a story somewhere inside me. These snapshots are just me grasping at straws. Thanks always for reading 🤗
The snapshots are brilliant and the story will come.
👍 heart felt
Thanks for your writing Fatima, always thanks, this is definitely the best piece I'll read today
Thank you so much, Nick. I appreciate you reading my work ✨ have a lovely day.
Every time I read one of your pieces I just want to hug you and tell you it's gonna be ok and I love you..
Your writing always tears me open..
I agree with mack, you're amazing
It’s gonna be ok and I love you too.