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The sound of church bells… ring…ring…ring…FIND A SEAT:Mirage finds a seat nearby and sits. This is the first time, since she moved out of her family’s home, that she finds herself in church. To be fair, this church in particular bears semblance to a cathedral– it's monumental– so it is difficult to pass on. Mirage decidedly sat in the back, where she gets full view: she watches as people of all ages, typically in families or larger groups enter. Each family, scuttling around, until they eventually find a seat and settle down. This time, Mirage is alone, so she gets the feeling that she misses her family. Either that, or that she should be missing them. At this point, she couldn’t tell them apart. Whichever it was, it didn't matter, as the thought quickly dissolved--this cathedral demanded too much of her attention! At this point, Mirage felt that it would have been more productive to sit and count the number of pillars that held up this building. On the outside, this building looked monumental. Easily, it could have been synonymous with invinciblity. But on the inside, it appeared to be immensely reliant on the support of these pillars. She imagined herself knocking a pillar over, with the force of a softened tap– the entire building, that once reveled in its all-encompassing grandeur--collapsing in on itself.Mirage looked down, and then up again; taking a breath in, she reset her mind from the thought. She gave it a moment, and that's when her eyes met with the stained glass artistry. Mirage looked at the shape of each glass shard, followed by its tint. Intently, she stared at the way that they were made to connect and contrast with the other shards of glass.It's time to kneel down.Each shard, as if woven together.Close your eyes.One way or another, it’s nature is arrested.Pray.But under high levels of heat--for a short period of time--it softens and stretches. And when cooled, fingers glide on it like obsidian.

???

On days where I was left home alone, I'd scurry off to my mother's room.Her room was the only room in the home that had a walk-in wardrobe.
More than that, her spacious closet was the only department in the home that had carpet-flooring.The closet offered both privacy and warmth. I'd close the door shut in attempt to muffle it all out. Relishing my own presence became my favorite company. But just when I thought I escaped everyone and everything, the sun's rays managed to peek through the narrow transom window from above. I'd lay down, ready to soak it all in-- all of the life that the sun passed on to the carpet-- as though it were alive and breathing.The closet was a blend between what felt like it's own proper room and a hideaway; as if it were made for the purpose of laying esconced. I thought it must be because the closet didn't quite qualify as its own room or department in the home. The closet felt detached, at least enough, from home. It felt as though I had been transported into a completely different headspace. The unfamiliarity and lack of repetition was what kept me coming back. I felt as though I could retreat at any given moment.Lay over and let it happen to me.

Are you still there?

Because I'm not. I guess old habits do die hard.As I walked out of the palace, the sun at dusk began to tease me. And suddenly, it felt like a waste to spend even thirty minutes of my time at a church; where god was nowhere to be found.