I had a playlist of his name. Of songs he would send me now and then. Now every song I hear is a ghost of him. A reminder that he is here. But he is not.
I want someone to kiss my scars and tell me I’m beautiful still, that even after my scars I’m worthy to be loved and seen, I want someone to tell me that warriors do not come clean.
The world kept breaking you and here you are- still soft, still loving, how strong of you to maintain your magic in a world where everyone loses their essence.
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