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Survival’s funny. Some wear it like a whisper, others like a scream. Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward.
make your heart heavy with love.
“You’re very stubborn,” he says, moving around to crouch by the stool. “So nice of you to say. I sharpen that weapon daily.”
“No wonder you laughed,” she says, then reaches behind me, flicking a blanket over my back and easing it around my shoulders. “The unbreakable always do.”
I’m done living the life I’ve been told to live and not the one I want for myself.
