Category: Wounded healer
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Because, illusion was all there was, painted over empty rooms that feigned promises of a life inside. Because, illusion was all there could be, in a world that had no inside.
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It’s just a story; it’s not who I am. A story that had the power to make me believe it was who I am. Then I forgave, and grieved, and let go. Now I begin with just me, before the story sidetracked me, and who I was meant to be all along.
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silence is space, for breathing, for calm, for reflection. It’s absence is cluttered with noise that distracts from knowing what lies beneath, and drains the spirit. silence is time, is being, is renewal.
