Letter to self . To you. From someone. 

“So it’s been raining more than usual on me this month — the melancholia, the open pores of my own longing, the bleeding wounds of our transgressions, still longing to be healed, the fragility of the human heart, the deep layers of ache stored in our souls, the constellations of our hurts and joys — one day the light, another the vast emptiness we carry. I think of how damn little we know or let ourselves be known, when we half-smile and say we’re fine, of all the stories of survival and of sorrow hiding not just in another’s heart but bleeding through our own.

There is a door around each heart guarded (and often heavily locked) by its owner, which cannot be unlocked by anybody else — no matter how hard love can try to break & enter you, or how badly you want it, need it, beg it to save you. 

Unless you, of your own accord, decide it’s time to finally forgive yourself for all the hurt you’ve caused or received, and let life fill your lungs anew. 

Nobody else can ultimately save you from yourself. Nobody else will save you BUT yourself. 

For those of us who’ve known real darkness, while lost in the valley of the shadow of death, our logic often fails us, sometimes there REALLY is no light, no logical belief, no factual reason to keep going.Nothing you say or do to me deep in that cold night of the soul will make me jump for joy and put a smile on my face. Don’t bother.

But what I found works in my case is not striving for joy & heaven but simply lessening the load of hell and getting through the day, freeing myself from the foreverness and the impossibility of my burden, to merely learning to be right here & now, and carrying it for just ANOTHER DAY.

Please don’t go yet. Today is NOT the day you die. 

You are not your past, the mistakes you’ve made, the happiness you’re feeling cheated out of. 

You are not the hurt you still carry, the losses that keep piling, the stories of survival they forced you to accept as yours. You’re not the cage, you are the bird that sings it open. 

You are the the storyteller, the creator, the hand behind the wheel. Even when all the roads are blocked, new ones are waiting to be walked into existence — by your feet. 

There’s poetry still dripping from your fingers, miles of metaphor & skin to be explored, a truer world sprouting like grass among the ruins of your life. 

It’s just the way it is down here. Some will leave you & others will stay. Some will break you & others will love you back to life. Just show them, as you show yourself, the way back in. 

And all this waiting, this aloneness, this becoming, this exile from yourself is just another stubborn way the spirit takes you home, in human chests, where you belong. 

You haven’t seen it all. There’s beauty still in store that will collapse your lungs, there’s laughter trapped inside your bones, as if they’d never known the taste of breaking, there is new life you will create unlike the one that trapped you, there’s trust as if you’d never lost a damn person or thing, and you will bless the fires that brought you to this love. 

Know that the lack of music can also be a song, the emptiness prepares you for the rising, the darkness can’t be spared but it can be danced in, and all these disappointments are but sidetones of a truer love affair with life.

Don’t go like this. Too bright. Too short. Too soon. Your loss diminishes me. Your life is an unfinished chapter in my story. You ache is burning through my lines. You may feel ready to let go, but we are not. 

Wherever you are. Whoever you are. However we got here. 

I love you. I know you. I am you. 

Please stay.”

(Excerpt from an article I can’t find the link to ;( Please pass it on to anyone feeling down) 

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