Two Houses, One Roof, Two Lenses, Where's Proof

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Two Houses, Two Lenses

My sister and I were raised under the same roof but came out with very different visions. She sees her life like a well-kept house: windows polished, God’s light shining in through the front, the devil scratching at the back door.

I live in a cracked house. The walls aren’t pristine; they’re split and jagged. I don’t patch them up — I let the truth leak through. For me, good and evil aren’t forces outside. They’re choices born from ego and conscience. No devil makes me do it. No God cleans up the mess.

Two houses, two lenses. Same family, same father, but different lessons carved into us. Hers is a place of certainty and defense. Mine is a place of cracks and flow, where the weight of conscience is the only judge.


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