Little splinters and taut strings. Pressure and queasiness. Heightened by night. Or just by darkness? Not panic or fear or stress. Subtle & mellow assurance that all is not as it ought to be. Starting with you. (Or me, depending on one's view of things.)

Eternal pessimism is ultimately less soul-crushing than realism. Don't play the martyr. The twinges are worth it. It'll feel better in the morning, I promise. (Or you'll feel at all, whichever is more comforting.) Dull and hollow and spent. Too far from the source.

For every thirst and every need. For peace that passes understanding. For a love that will not let me go. It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. I forget sometimes.