Let's rock

My kinda flower❤️‍🔥

Let me

There are times when hope feels like a language we have forgotten. This is one of those times. There is nothing left to comfort us, nothing that can make the future feel worth reaching for. Whatever desire we once had for life has been slowly, violently extinguished. We are no longer living. We are surviving… Grasping at every thread, every fragile thing that might keep us from falling. And there is a particular kind of pain in being a survivor. You are expected to rebuild. To remain standing. To keep moving forward, because stopping would feel like betraying those who never got the chance to continue. You are expected to carry their names, their memories, their unfinished lives to make sure their blood was not shed for nothing… But no one tells you how unbearable that weight can become. How do you carry the responsibility of living when grief itself makes it difficult to breathe? How do you keep going when some part of you keeps wishing it didn’t have to? In the darkest moments, we have always had each other. Friends who come close enough to lift grief from our shoulders, even if only for a few minutes. Friends who remind us what breathing feels like. What living feels like. But what happens when grief has settled on all of our shoulders? When everyone is drowning, who is left to pull whom out? And perhaps the cruelest kind of sorrow is the sorrow caused by those who add to your pain when you are already doing everything you can to survive. Why? Why, when I was already fighting to stay afloat, did you give me another reason to ask Why did you do this to me too? I was careful. I was terrified of breaking again. Terrified of having to gather the pieces of myself, once more. So I guarded myself. I kept my distance from anything that might hurt me. And still I broke again…

Just let it burn For all this waiting is murdering my soul

Dante's Inferno — Gustave Doré