This year wasn’t much of a battle for me, I’ve battled greater giants and wrestled viler demons yet still I stood tall. Instead, this year gave me milk and honey.
January brought me assurance. That even though things may not always be there for me physically, the mere faith that they are there is enough.
February taught me process. Not everything that starts slow is bound to die early. Things take time. Friendship takes time. Healing takes time.
March forced me to hustle alone. It taught me that I am more than capable of doing work if I just put my mind to it.
April reminded me of family. Despite of how much I run away from them, they always got my back. Even through shit. Always.
May was the consideration of love. You made me feel flowers even though you didn’t mean to and I was too much of a hopeless romantic to oversee how your eyes scream nothing.
June ignited friendships. There are way too much things to see beyond my biases and criticisms.
July shoved down 9 shots of rum in my throat. Burned my mouth just to say how much I love you, and appreciated your face, and how much I don’t want to feel this way.
August were the laughters.
September urged me to try. To try and get things done. To try and get up. To try and forget you. To collapse every night, only to burn myself in the morning. The same way how galaxies are made.
October, I thought, was the end.
November was the notice. Of how much I was loved by the people around me. Of how much my presence reminded them of sunshine. Of how much capable I am of being loved.
December nights whispered a secret: that I have to be brave else, nothing will change.
I may not have come out from this year bruised and filled with cuts but i sure did bring with me my spoils of war. The flowers in my ribs may not have been bled on, but they grew still.
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
snowghoul
janainaart
germansingergirl
annaxmalina
romaincrisis
prguitarman