Becoming
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Grief does not always leave; sometimes it grows roots beneath the ribs until healing means learning how to bloom around it.
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Changing does not betray the woman she was; it simply means some survival versions no longer need permanent rooms inside her.
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Healing means keeping the truth about mistakes and scars without letting either become the whole story.
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Healing did not make her untouched; it taught roots to grow through wreckage and flowers to feed on what once tried to bury her.
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After years of searching for home in other people’s arms, she realizes the place she kept rebuilding was herself.
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Choosing joy does not erase old pain; it simply refuses to let every bruise, promise, and goodbye own the rest of the story.
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The walls remember every version of her—the tears, the coffee, the restless nights, and the woman who kept figuring out what came next.
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The moon could not return what was lost, but beneath it she learned to stop asking the sky to rebuild a life only she could keep living.
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At three in the morning, survival looks less like magic and more like a chipped mug, vitamins, cold water, and the promise to wake up tomorrow.
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After they left, the fire remained—and grief slowly revealed itself as the same stubborn life still writing, rebuilding, and choosing tomorrow.
Between Bruises & Blooms 