Between Bruises and Blooms

I used to think healing meant forgetting.

That one day the memories wouldn’t hurt. The scars wouldn’t ache. The past wouldn’t whisper my name.

But maybe healing isn’t becoming someone new.

Maybe it’s learning to love the person who survived.

The one who stayed. The one who fought. The one who kept choosing tomorrow even when yesterday left bruises.

Because flowers don’t apologize for growing through the dirt.

And I won’t apologize for blooming after everything that tried to bury me.