“I wish you could feel it when it’s dark at night, and I think of you when I pass the streetlights. But I know you feel the care without me being there.”

I grew up learning history about communities that would support their people (the idea that it takes a village), but all I see are so many people left on their own.

When the silence fades and now sounds begin to bloom, I will grow to feel calm again. Healthily this time.

My words decay. I grow as they fray, unbecoming in the passage of time.

I overwhelmingly write from sadness – in songs, in prose, in verse.

I search for comedy scripts / I watch happy shows / In hopes that laughter will be the remedy I end my day with.

I hide myself in the galaxies of my creations – unsure of who I am beyond that.

I wonder why I’m so empathetic, why people perceive me to be so kind. I don’t want my heart to burn when there’s no one burning mine.

We walk in circles, never knowing when to end the cycle our hearts put us in.

Somewhere the silence resonates, the clutter clears, and you’re set to start again.

And so, my ‘What if’s’ became ‘What’s next?’

Why is it that you have more practice describing weaknesses than strengths? It’s not your fault they never went to the lengths to teach you how to value your strengths.

It felt vulnerable to have people know my weaknesses, but there is so much strength from going back to the start and re-determining who you are.

Let go of the honey-sweet lies for the bittersweet truths.

When you and the world are out of breath, take the steps to ensure your own needs are met. By the moment you know someone can’t on their own, you’ll hopefully be ready to help.

I carry on knowing that when I deteriorate, my body will be a museum of all I can do and all that hindered me.

It’s really hard to grow up wanting to provide people with resources and support and realizing that while I can and will do that – I also need more than I thought I would.