Between Bruises & Blooms

Summer kissed me goodbye without making a promise to return the same.It left wildflowers pressed between the pages of my memory,sunlight tangled in my hair,and the scent of rain still clinging to my favorite sweater.I waved as golden evenings slipped quietly into earlier sunsets.Not every goodbye arrives with heartbreak.Some come like a gentle hand against your cheek—a reminder that beauty was…

I have always belonged to places that refused to keep me.The ocean knows my name even though I have never stayed long enough to become part of its shoreline.There is sea salt in my veins—proof that some people are born carrying tides instead of certainty.I arrive. I love. I leave pieces of myself behind like shells in the sand, hoping someone will hear the echo I left inside them.The waves have…

Some mornings joy isn’t loud.It isn’t confetti or miracles or the kind of happiness people photograph.Sometimes it’s cold coffee reheated twice.Tiny footsteps before the sun remembers the sky.A sleepy child pressing cereal into your hand like they’ve discovered treasure.The dog waiting at the door.The cat stealing your chair.The quiet realization that you survived another night.So I pour hope…

She was never afraid of the crows. While the village nailed shut its windowsand whispered prayers against bad omens,she stood barefoot in abandoned fields,her pockets full of feathersand her hair tangled with the wind. The crows knew her name. Not the one her mother gave her,but the older one—the one spoken by forgotten forests,where every tree remembersthe women who refused to burn. They…

Everyone blamed the darkness.They said,“The devil made you do it.”But the devil never raised his voicein our kitchen.He never turned loveinto a weapon.He never taught meto apologizefor woundsI didn’t create.It wasn’t some ancient evilwearing your face.It was you.Your choices.Your silence.Your anger.Your hands.People sleep easierwhen monsters have horns.It’s harder to admitthey sometimes weara…

Some recipes become familylong before they’re written down. A fork too big,a bite too small,cream on tiny lipsinstead of napkins. The cheesecake won’t rememberwho ate it first. But I will rememberthe sleepy smiles,the sticky fingers,the quiet little hums of approval,and the way lovelooked like dessertshared between generations. Years from now,they won’t askhow much sugar was in it. They’ll…

I am no longerthe womanwho mistakes survivalfor love.No longercounting apologieslike prayer beads,waiting for themto become miracles.I am tired.Not the kind of tiredthat sleep can mend,but the kindleft behindby courtrooms,empty bedrooms,missed phone calls,and carryingtoo many versionsof myselfat once.Still—I wake.I make coffee.I write.I kiss scraped knees,wipe tiny faces,laugh at kittenswho…

You never asked me to disappear. Not out loud. Love is rarely that honest. It arrived in smaller requests. Don’t bring that up. Don’t cry tonight. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. So I folded myself into quieter versions. A laugh without questions. A smile without certainty. An apology for wounds I couldn’t remember making. I learned that peace could be…

There is a room inside methat no one has ever entered.Not because the door is locked,but because I have never foundthe language to invite anyone in.It is where every almost lives.The almost family.The almost forever.The almost phone call.The almost goodbye.The almost version of mewho never learned how to survive.It is not grief,because grief knows what it has buried.It is not hope,because hope…

The world has a wayof counting our scars.It measures the sleepless nights,the court dates,the unanswered prayers,the cracks in the wallswhere hope once hung its coat.But children…Children count different things.They count butterflies.The number of times the windlifts their hair.The songs hidden inside ordinary afternoons.Today,my daughter found musicwhere I only heard another day.She…

The last time I saw you, I thoughtwe were standingin the middle of our story. I didn’t knowwe were alreadyat the final page. Some goodbyesnever announce themselves. They simply becomethe last time.

I loved you until… loving youmeantforgetting myself. Some heartsdon’t stop loving. They just learnthey deserveto be loved too.

The house is finally quiet now,but only becausethe sun has already climbedhigh enoughto forgive another sleepless night.Tiny feet,tiny cries,tiny hands reaching through crib railsas though sleepwere something to be feared.The clock says three.Then four.Then five.We bargain with yawns,warm bottles,soft lullabies,and whispered promisesthat tomorrowwill surely be different.It never is.Morning…

While the house surrenderedto silence and shadows,one window refused.It held the last confessionof a night that had forgottenhow to end.The vines climbed the glasslike old spirits rememberingwhere the light used to live,their fingers wrapped around dawnas though morning itselfmight escape.Outside, the trees whisperedto a sky too gentlefor the ghosts inside these walls.Inside,the darkness…

The hardest part of loving you wasn’tletting go. It was acceptingthat I was fightingfor someone who had alreadylet go of me.

Every love story ends. Somewith forever. Somewith goodbye. And some— with one personstill carryingthe chaptersthe otherforgot to keep.

You became my home. Then one day, I realizedI had beenbuilding a life inside someone who had alreadyleft the lights off. So I gatheredthe pieces of myself, and learned that homewas nevera person. It was me.