Hope
-
I dream of angelswith clean handsand mouths full of mercy, but morning always finds mewith smoke in my lungsand old ghostssleeping at the foot of my bed. I have begged heavento leave the porch light on,just once,so I could rememberwhat it feels liketo be expected somewhere. Instead,the dark knows my name. It curls beside melike…
-
Grief does not always leave; sometimes it grows roots beneath the ribs until healing means learning how to bloom around it.
-
A new connection arrives quietly enough to feel safe and suddenly has her smiling at a screen like she forgot she still could.
-
Uncertainty turns silence into sirens and thoughts into sharp little things, forcing the body to survive futures that have not happened.
-
She knows darkness well enough to walk it with her eyes closed, which may be exactly why she is finally learning how to leave.
-
Choosing joy does not erase old pain; it simply refuses to let every bruise, promise, and goodbye own the rest of the story.
-
Porches, gravel roads, abandoned houses, forests, and kitchens become the places that held her when people could not.
-
Unsent words become birds inside the chest, then paper cranes once she accepts that some stories will never reach their destination.
-
After they left, the fire remained—and grief slowly revealed itself as the same stubborn life still writing, rebuilding, and choosing tomorrow.
-
Where answers should have been, silence leaves echoes, imagined explanations, and the question of whether disappearing was the destination all along.
Between Bruises & Blooms 