Encapsulation I stop to buy a necklace on my way out, one you won't like, a silver cross, but it doesn't mean I want anything more any more than it means you want to be a mother when you browse baby shoes and have mini-breakdowns over the smallness of their feet. There is something so beautiful about a cross. You know how I feel about shapes. You know how I want to surround myself with symbols. Somehow, I have to singe a significance into my skin and hope to have stamina enough to hold onto it a while. Or else my eyes will search out what is missing, something you call my selfish game. I promise I would never want to offend by wearing a beloved god in my attempt to kick crawling away, but in the dark it's hard to have integrity at core, so much core forced out by fears. Golden shovel: “You want to have feet. / You want to have eyes. / You want to have fears.” – Jane Hirshfield V...