I look for myself. It is being brave enough to turn everything that still hurts into something as tangible as paper and watching it burn, realizing that these are things I can’t change anymore. That even if it’s unfair that people are always leaving holes in my heart and soul, I must learn to plant flowers in them instead of allowing weed to grow. I must allow myself to grow. September ends with a new kind of peace looming overhead. It is hey, I’m going to be okay. It is I’m not okay now but I will be.












