Clash.

I don't know how. In the span of three or so words, the nicest things built on silent sacrifices and unheard thank-you's just bare themselves of the candy coating that make them nice. They do not fall apart, no. They become what perhaps they really are.

And suddenly I cannot hold back the words. Maybe the same ones. Suddenly everyone is ready to burst, like bubblegum balloons waiting to slap the cheeks. Suddenly what has long been used to justify favors tiny and big becomes of question. The very point loses its being so. I am left with a struggle to be started.

And then senselessness breaks it all. Bitterness is collected. Maybe to keep, to let go someday. After all, it's a Sunday. Maybe to burn, to let go. After all, everyday is a Sunday.

And I almost want to cry. Because it seems so easy to lose focus. Because it's effortless to wander off where I should be. Because it's unconsciously that we hurt. Because it's frustrating to track down where things went wrong. Because turning another 180 degrees knows no previous efforts, no longer periods of time.

But then again, the heart knows the Lord.