“And perhaps the greatest peace of art is in the brush stroke of our suffering.”

I learned the hard way that not everything in life was meant to be beautiful.

I wasn’t running away from you. I was running towards myself.

An empath does not sleep. She listens to the wind and wonders if its crying.

Maybe we needed a storm, to miss the peace a little. Maybe we needed the shadows, to remember our beautiful light.

If you only stand for something until it gets uncomfortable, then you never really stood at all.

You are the only song I know all the words to.

How tremendously brave to be shattered in a way that makes stained-glass windows from the pain.

Healing and the resentment cannot live in the same body. One must suffocate to let the other survive.

When darkness came, and it did, I learned that I can scream at the top of my lungs without making any sound at all.

The opposite of growing isn’t being saved. Its finding peace.

I was the storm you could never silence, nor wish away.

I am not the kind of lost that needs finding. I am the kind of lost that needs healing.

I was the storm you could never silence, nor wish away.

Light is much more than the absence of darkness. And you, my love, are much more than the absence of him.

You told me everything would be okay. I wish you had said – you’ll hurt but I’ll hold you.

How tremendously brave to be shattered in a way that makes stained-glass windows from the pain.