#metaphoricalwings

[relatablejoe]

the sacred ordinary

love is not the one who reaches for you when the night is soft and nothing is asked of them, when wanting is easy and the dark hides the work. love is the one who says your name in the morning, over cold coffee, over shaking hands, over a world that keeps kicking at the door. love is who chooses you when choosing costs something. remember that.

you were never meant to be an afterthought, a pause in someone else's sentence, a comma before their real life begins. you are the whole road, the dust and the distance, the map and the miracle at the end of it. anyone who cannot love you in daylight, in your plainness, in your ordinary tuesday self, does not deserve to kneel at your door. full stop.

[relatablejoe]

wings in the rain

butterflies do not war with weather, they fold into themselves, hide color beneath leaf and bark, and let the sky speak its storm.

she watches them, her rest mistaken for surrender, yet this stillness is a temple, where softness sharpens quietly, where her wings remember sunlight.

when the clouds unfasten, she will rise, not in spite of the rain, but because of the waiting, carrying every drop that fell, as shimmer, not as weight.