peace
-
She stopped mistaking chaos for love and learned to turn around when a road makes the body remember fear.
-
Once the babies finally sleep, Honey claims the quiet hours, curling close as though she has been waiting for exhaustion to make room for her.
-
Nightly joy arrives in the small things that survive the dark—quiet rooms, warm bodies, and moments no one else sees.
-
Myst knows nothing about the past; she only knows these hands are gentle, this bed is warm, and closing her eyes here is safe.
-
After months measured in empty rooms and phone calls, home finally has a date and hope dares to become something concrete.
-
After the last bottle and the day’s final demand, a quiet smoke becomes less about escape and more about returning to herself.
-
Before the children wake and the house fills with need, a few quiet minutes become enough room to hear herself again.
-
At four in the morning, she misses the heavy quiet that once softened sleeplessness, anxiety, and the relentless sprint inside her mind.
-
Smoke becomes a small place to unclench when grief and the world demand more weight than one body should have to carry.
Between Bruises & Blooms 