When the light enters though our rips and tears, we start to watch our wounds seal up and repair, becoming inimitable light sources on their own.
Sometimes the story needs to change... leaving you with a painful choice: to keep playing your part, or to craft new lines.
I feel the warmth of the sun through the windows on my skin before the light penetrates the thick curtains of my eyelids. Heavy with sleep, my eyelids flutter, my eyes focus on the source of this warmth and then just as quickly close, and I’m still not sure whether I’m awake yet or asleep. ...
Many lost soul-pieces await restlessly to be acknowledged...just as the ruins of wrecked ships from long ago are waiting for the next storm to uncover them.