“Per aspera ad astra.”
Through bruised softness, through unspoken storms.
He wears flowers like a crown and silence like a blade.
There’s a war behind every gentle gaze,
and still—he chooses tenderness.
Every wingbeat a wound, every feather earned.
The grass beneath him doesn’t know
how many nights he slept on doubt,
but the stars above? They do.
SOURCE:@stacyko_
https://www.instagram.com/stacyko_/
















