This isn't about the act. It’s about the .
Raw, vulnerable, philosophical.
You think faith is only found in stained glass and hymnals? Let me tell you where I found mine. gloryhole swallow faith
Because in that moment, I have to make a choice. Do I bite? Do I run? Do I weaponize my fear? Or do I receive ?
So yeah. I have faith. Not in God. Not in politics. But in the hole. And the swallow. And the beautiful, terrifying grace of letting the stranger on the other side be a saint, just for tonight. This isn't about the act
There’s a hole in the wall. Chest-high. Patched with duct tape and graffiti. On my side, I’m just knees on cold concrete. I can’t see his face. I don’t know his name, his sins, or if he voted the same way I did. I know nothing.
We spend our whole lives building walls. Drywall. Ego. Prejudice. Then we drill a single hole in them just to remind ourselves that we are not an island. You think faith is only found in stained glass and hymnals
I don’t know his name. But in the three seconds after the shudder, before the footsteps fade, there is a silence more sacred than any cathedral. It’s the silence of two broken people who, for just one moment, didn’t hurt each other.
