Between Bruises & Blooms

Rejection introduced itself first, wearing familiar faces and borrowed smiles.

It taught me that sometimes the loudest silence comes from people who once promised they’d never leave.

Then came attachment.

Not to people—

but to memories, to apologies that never arrived, to versions of myself who kept believing love could be earned by bleeding quietly.

I carried broken things like they were sacred, mistaking their weight for their worth.

Until betrayal arrived without knocking.

It shattered the glass I had been calling home, left fingerprints across every soft place inside my chest.

For a long time, I believed those fractures were the end of me.

But flowers do not ask permission from broken ground.

They simply bloom.

Now, I no longer chase closed doors.

I no longer beg locked hearts to remember my name.

I have learned that rejection creates space.

Attachment teaches surrender.

Betrayal reveals the people who were never meant to stay.

And somewhere between every goodbye and every beginning,

I found myself—

still standing, still writing, still becoming someone who no longer mistakes surviving for failing.


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