Between Bruises & Blooms
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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 4:20, one brief smoke break becomes a seam between chores, sleeping children, and the tired body carrying the whole day.
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The forest becomes a burial ground for old apologies, dead promises, and the version of herself who kept begging people to stay.
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July fifteenth asks one heart to celebrate a son’s birthday while quietly remembering the pregnancy and grief stitched into the same date.
Between Bruises & Blooms 