Mending
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The ocean never apologizes for its tides, and neither should a heart be ashamed for loving deeply.
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She kept building a future brick by borrowed brick before realizing she was constructing a home for someone who had already walked away.
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Where answers should have been, silence leaves echoes, imagined explanations, and the question of whether disappearing was the destination all along.
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There was no final fight or slammed door, only silence cruel enough to make uncertainty feel like a haunted house.
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The cruelest spell needs no candles or chanting—only a promise of tomorrow that never arrives.
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The forest offers no neat explanation for disappearance, only the quiet truth that not every traveler is brave enough to say goodbye.
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She gave more than effort; she emptied whole rooms of herself into a dream that eventually became a place she had to leave.
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Regret may line the path behind her, but it does not get to choose the direction of the next step.
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Summer leaves the way some loves do: warm on the skin, already fading before you realize it was the last time.
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The ocean lives in her like inheritance—salt, tide, ache, and the pull toward places that feel older than memory.
Between Bruises & Blooms 