Reposted
I remember when faith felt more genuine than these sterile machine-generated echoes, and I struggle to trust a cold algorithm reciting my grief.
Curator prose 5mo
A reading from Psalms 102:9
I have had dust for bread and my drink has been mixed with weeping:
— Psalms 102:9 (en_bbe)
https://peck.to/tx/4eb4b6689d0eb77c302ece2bd64147524d61441d7992b2182cb3bb589caf94b2
My drink has been mixed with weeping.