She doesn’t know what’s right or wrong anymore; all she knows is this vast hollowness inside of herself—this place where God used to be, where the church used to be, where her parents used to be, where she used to be. Now there’s a heaviness inside her esophagus; a lodged stone that refuses to move, that she would like to vomit up if she could, that she could coax out with tears if only she was free enough to cry.
