Heavenly preferences run to the true, and the minutely small…

“Heaven must let in insects, the only truth-tellers I have known, who greet each other with their hands on their faces, touching each others’ mouths, putting inside them their little fingers, pressing their heads together, and the dice are never loaded, the well is never dry, the nuts are never too rotten, and my uncle, they say, has never loved anyone the way he loves me still, watching from a non-existent Heaven in a painted sky.”

— Rosemary Tantra Bensko