vee

they say you should be proud of the scars on your body because they tell a story in a way you can never replicate. but what about the hidden scars? what about the mental scars? the ones that you lock in a dark and cramped room and never look back at until they come back biting you in the ass. i’m not happy with the story they tell, i’m not happy with that broken and dark part of me. at least, it gives me the strength to fight and it’s a strong reminder of the many things i accomplished that my mind said i couldn’t.

This is what I like about photographs. They’re proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.

What draws people to be friends is that they see the same truth. They share it.

Something in me wants more. I can’t rest.