These are my wounds to set me free. My insecurities.
This is our therapy.
Living every day in grace. Moving on.
For so long we fight ourselves.
For so long, trying to fill a mold.
For so long, trying to search for ourselves in things, people, and places.
This holds a contradiction, for we exist on our own yet have parts included in all others.
There is solace in this. For with each setting sun there is something to be said. And some things to be left unsaid.
Something to be learned. Some things to be unlearned and reworked.
For with every setting sun another one will rise, illuminating everything that was once in the dark.
Embracing whatever dry middle ground we can, to continue walking on.