Lies are often truth-shaped. They’re only containers you must turn inside out and shake till the truth tumbles out, wide eyed and confused, blinking in a light it never thought it would see.
There are graveyards inside you made of people that made you ache, made of memories that you barely survived made of trauma and heartbreak. These graveyards need to become gardens where you plant flowers that blossom, for you to let go.
The bird building her home on your windowsill has every nest destroyed before. The spider that is delicately weaving a masterpiece has had every single thread broken before. And despite it all, they try again.
