As writers we are supposed to find the beauty and poetry in everything. And sometimes I can. Sometimes I will go for a walk, just to the store or something, and the breeze will hit me in the right way and I will catch the scent of flowers and the ocean and I will feel so incredibly grateful and humbled by this life I am making for myself. I will fall in love with myself and the world in these fragments of time.
But other times, other times I am cooped up in my apartment, too much stewing inside of me to even open the window and there is no beauty in that. There is no beauty in suffering. We try to say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But sometimes those things are just killing you slowly.
Maybe we have to die sometimes to be reborn into light.