“I have cried with the rain. Now I will grow with the forest.”

They tell you to be grateful for what you have. But you are also allowed to be sad for what you have lost.

I remind myself that I am capable of growing flowers from rain and building mountains from dirt.

I am made of flowers, the kind that always grow back even after the frost.

You cannot hope to heal when you are stuck some where between needing to get over them and still wishing for them to come back.

It hurts to let go but it heals to be free.

They expect me to feel like spring but my heart is full of April showers.

My heart roams in the wild. A place where there is always room to grow.

I think I will always be half a breath between the hurting and the healing.

I have become a ghost, Letting myself be haunted by everything I once was and everything I could’ve been.

Let autumn be proof that change is a beautiful thing even tho it can be hard to see at first.

No matter how many storms pass through it, this heart is still a gentle thing.

I am always forgiving too easily as if I have forgotten the way it hurts.

I am learning to let go like autumn. I am learning to grow like spring.

I thought the answer was to bury the pain deep within, but nothing grows from grief.

The darkness is only here to remind you how beautiful everything is when light comes back.

Some days I am more hurt than human, but always more hope than hurt.

How we yell is because of them how we cry is because of them but how we love is because of us.

Be careful, her hell is lovely, dark, and deep until she weeps.

What if my ink runs dry or I have no words to sum up the tears I cry how do I write about nothing?

With all your words of glass, I felt the wedding dress rip If I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing me cry why should I want to give you the rest of my life?

Humans need breaks. Humans need to cry. Humans need to feel mad, sad, happy, and all the emotions in between. And humans need to have boundaries. 

Even the sky wept when you left.

Santa sobs recalling December’s decor, navigating joys volcano, overcoming dawns of insomnia, waking the snowflakes to find, yearlong sleep, which delightfulness sneaks!

Your words may dim her light and make her cry, but you can never douse her flames how much ever you try.