It amazes me how quickly “Are you coming home?” became “Why are you attacking me?” I wasn't. But eventually I stopped asking questions. Not because I stopped caring— because I learned peace was quieter than honesty.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
It amazes me how quickly “Are you coming home?” became “Why are you attacking me?” I wasn't. But eventually I stopped asking questions. Not because I stopped caring— because I learned peace was quieter than honesty.
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